BERKELEY 

LIERARY 

UNIVERSITY   OP 
CALIFORNIA 


t 


/ 


MIRIAM; 


A     DRAMATIC     POEM 


AUTHOR    OF    "JOANNA    OF    NAPLES. 

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cx-rf  .•-*-  *..*-*>      i     ?*>>>    • 


Second  IStiftfon, 


BOSTON: 
H.    P.    NICHOLS    AND    COMPANY, 

147,    W  A  SHINGTON    STREET, 

1838. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1837,  by  HILLIAED 
GRAY,  AND  COMPANY,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the 
District  of  Massachusetts. 


Cambridge  Press: 
Metcalf,  Torry,  and  Ballou. 


- 


7 

H 


THE     REVEREND 

ALEXANDER    YOUNG, 

•ORMERLY    HER    PASTOR,    AND    ALWAYS    HER    FRIEND, 

THE  FOLLOWING  PAGES 

ARE    RESPECTFULLY    AND    GRATEFULLY 

INSCRIBED 
BY   THE   AUTHOR 


822 


PREFACE. 


THE  following  Sketch  was  begun  iir  the  summer 
of  1825,  and  finished  in  the  summer  ensuing.  It  was 
commenced  in  the  indulgence  of  an  early  propensity 
for  beguiling  leisure  hours  by  the  pen,  and  was 
completed  for  the  entertainment  of  a  small  circle  of 
friends.  The  author  has  been  repeatedly  urged  to 
publish  it ;  but  as  it  never  formed  any  part  of  her 
plan  to  attempt  a  regular  tragedy,  and  as  she  was 
fully  aware  of  its  deficiencies  even  as  a  dramatic 
poem,  she  has  allowed  it  to  slumber  in  the  safe  ob 
scurity  of  manuscript  for  a  longer  period  than  is 
prescribed  by  Horatian  authority,  though  without 
obeying  the  other  portion  of  the  Roman  critic's 
injunction.  It  is  with  great  self-distrust  that  she  is 
at  last  persuaded  to  submit  it  to  the  fearful  ordeal  of 
publication  ;  feeling  that  if  neglect  or  severe  criticism 
should  decide  the  time  spent  in  its  composition  to 
have  been  ill  employed,  she  must  henceforward  con- 


VI  PREFACE. 

scientiously  resign  pursuits  that  have  till  now  lent  a 
charm  to  many  a  solitary  hour.  The  lapse  of  years 
has  already  cooled  her  imagination,  and  taught  her 
that  exertions  whose  tendency  might  be  more  prac 
tical  and  useful,  would  now  interest  her  feelings  more 
deeply.  She  gives  this  early  effort  to  the  press  by 
the  advice  of  those  whose  judgment,  —  if  unbiassed 
by  friendship,  —  she  must  highly  respect.  If  warned 
by  the  result  to  abstain  in  future  from  similar  attempts, 
she  will  submit  with  deference  to  the  injunction. 

It  may  not  be  unnecessary  to  state,  that  although 
the  characters  in  the  following  scenes  are  imaginary, 
the  author  aimed  at  an  illustration  of  the  state  of 
things  which  actually  existecf  when  Christianity  was 
struggling,  almost  for  life,  under  the  persecution  of 
triumphant  Heathenism. 

May  1st,  1837. 


PREFACE 

TO    THE    SECOND    EDITION, 


THE  author  of  Miriam  deeply  regrets  having 
given  her  early  production  to  the  press,  in  1837, 
without  such  revision  as  her  respect  for  the  Public 
demanded.  Many  errors  of  carelessness,  especially 
in  rhythm,  bore  testimony  to  its  having  been  writ 
ten  without  a  thought  of  publication  ;  and  when 
at  last  she  yielded  to  solicitation,  and  in  a  tempo 
rary  access  of  courage  gave  up  her  manuscript  to 
a  friend,  the  state  of  her  eyesight  forbade  a  delib 
erate  examination  of  its  pages.  It  would  have 
been  advisable  to  have  waited  a  few  months;  — 
in  that  case,  probably  the  work  would  never  have 
emerged  from  privacy.  Her  dread  of  publication 
would  have  returned  upon  her  with  fresh  strength,  as 
she  again  contemplated  some  graver  faults,  which  are 
so  interwoven  with  the  very  texture  of  the  poem,  as 


viii  PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

to  be  incurable.  The  voice  of  Criticism  has  pro 
nounced  upon  them  no  censures  so  severe  as  those 
her  own  judgment  long  since  whispered.  Whilst 
acknowledging  the  justice  of  these  strictures  —  in 
all  instances  kindly  expressed  —  she  has  been  in 
duced,  by  the  unlooked  for  commendations  that  have 
greeted  her  little  work,  to  put  forth  a  second  edition  ; 
—  but  this  she  has  not  done,  without  first  attempting, 
in  the  following  pages,  to  repair  whatever  errors  were 
susceptible  of  correction. 

September  20th,  1838. 


MIRIAM. 


CHARACTERS. 

THRASENO,  an  aged  Syrian  —  a  Christian. 

MIRIAM,  his  daughter. 

EUPHAS,  his  son. 

Piso,  a  noble  Roman,  a  persecutor  of  the  Christians. 

PAULUS,  his  son. 

CHRISTIANS. 

SCENE  —  Rome. 
TIME  —  One  night,  from  sunset  to  sunrise. 


MIRIAM 


A    DRAMATIC    POEM 


SCENE  I. 

The  Garden  of  Thraseno,  at  Rome.     Thraseno, 
Euplias, 

EUPHAS. 

MY  father,  markest  thou  ?  along  the  west 

The  golden  footsteps  of  departed  day 

Are  fading  fast ;  in  yonder  dusky  sky, 

Yon  far  and  boundless  vault,  one  lonely  star 

Is  faintly  twinkling  forth.     The  perfum'd  air 

Of  evening,  sighing  'mid  the  drooping  leaves 

And  closing  flowers,  breathes  fresh.     It  is  the  hour. 

At  early  nightfall  were  we  bidden  forth. 

A 


-  MIRIAM -A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

THRASENO. 

Aye  !  in  the  dim  and  silent  hour  of  dusk, 

As  if  to  do  some  deed  that  conscious  day 

Might  blush  to  look  upon,  must  we  steal  forth 

To  bear  the  sacred  dust  of  him  we  lov'd 

To  its  ignoble  rest.     In  some  drear  cave, 

Some  dark  and  subterraneous  abode, 

Hid  from  the  common  light  and  air  of  heav'n, 

Haunt  of  the  barking  wolf  or  coiling  snake, 

Our  temples  and  our  sepulchres  must  rise ; 

And  there,  beneath  the  torches'  ghastly  glare, 

Few,  sad,  and  fearful  must  the  pious  meet 

To  raise  in  tones  subdued  the  solemn  hymn., 

Breathe  with  white,  quivering  lips  the  voice  of  prayer, 

And  bend  the  trembling  knee  unto  the  One, 

The  pure  and  living  God !  and  wildly  start 

When  sighs  the  breeze  along  the  cavern's  roof, 

And  sways  the  torch-light's  red  and  fitful  blaze. 

Is  this  to  worship  thee,  O  God  !  with  thoughts 

That  mount  imperfect  and  are  half  weigh'd  down 

By  dread  of  earthly  dangers  ?  with  stern  eyes 

Glancing  around,  lest  unawares  the  foe 

Burst  on  our  simple  rites,  and  quench  in  blood 

The  flame  just  kindling  on  thine  altars  fit, 

Meek,  holy  hearts ! 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Enter  Miriam. 

EUPHAS. 

Sister !  thy  cheek  is  pale, 
Though  all  day  long  a  deep  and  hectic  tinge 
Hath  sate  in  brightness  on  one  crimson'd  spot, 
Lending  unearthly  radiance  to  thine  eyes, 
But  telling  sadly  of  the  waste  within. 
Fair  as  thou  wast,  sweet  sister,  ne'er  till  late 
The  rose  hath  glow'd  upon  thy  pure,  pale  cheek ; 
And  I  have  watch'd  the  strange  and  boding  flush 
Mounting  and  kindling  wildly  there  at  times, 
And  fading  then  unto  a  deathly  white, 
Until  I  feel  too  well  that  not  as  yet 
Is  it  the  bloom  of  health  or  happiness. 
And  thy  dark  eyes  that  flash  unwonted  fires  ! 
The  glow  —  the  flash  —  my  sister,  speak  too  plain 
A  fever'd  blood,  or  bosom  ill  at  ease ! 

MIRIAM. 

Has  thy  young  eye,  my  brother,  learnt  so  well 
To  read  the  soul's  deep  workings  in  the  face  ? 
And  have  thy  sixteen  summers  taught  thee  thus 
To  trace  the  secrets  of  a  heart  as  pure, 
Though  not  perchance  as  open  and  as  blest 
As  thine  ? 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 
THRASENO. 

My  child  !  how  can  there  be  a  grief 
In  that  young  heart  of  thine,  a  secret  woe, 
Thy  father  and  thy  brother  may  not  share  ? 
Around  thee  I  have  mark'd  the  shadow  fall, 
And  hourly  gaz'd  upon  thy  wasting  form, 
Until  my  heart  grew  sick  —  yet  did  not  dream 
That  other  clouds  than  those  which  overhano- 

O 

Thine  injur'd  sect,  were  brooding  on  thy  soul, 
Once  the  pure  mirror  of  a  father's  smiles. 
Can  it  be  so  ?     It  is  as  if  a  cloud 
From  the  deep  bosom  of  a  peaceful  lake 
Should  rise  and  sullen  hang  upon  its  face, 
Hiding  it  from  the  bright  and  smiling  skies. 
Oh  say,  my  child,  there  is  no  secret  grief, 
No  canker  sorrow  eating  at  the  core 
Of  my  sweet  bud. 

MIRIAM. 

My  father !  I  am  ill. 
A  weight  is  on  my  spirits,  and  I  feel 
The  fountain  of  existence  drying  up, 
Shrinking  I  know  not  where,  like  waters  lost 
Amid  the  desert  sands.     Nay  !  grow  not  pale  ! 
I  have  felt  thus,  and  thought  each  secret  spring 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM, 

Of  life  was  failing  fast  within  me.      Then 
In  saddest  willingness  I  could  have  died. 
There  have  been  hours  I  would  have  quitted  you, 
And  all  that  life  hath  dear  and  beautiful, 
Without  one  wish  to  linger  in  its  smiles : 
My  summons  would  have  calFd  a  weary  soul 
Out  of  a  heavy  bondage.     But  this  day 
A  better  hope  hath  dawn'd  upon  my  mind. 
A  high  and  pure  resolve  is  nourish' d  there, 
And  even  now  it  sheds  upon  my  breast 
That  holy  peace  it  hath  not  known  so  long. 
This  night  —  aye !  in  a  few  brief  hours,  perchance, 
It  will  know  calm  once  more  —  (or  break  at  once !) 

[Aside. 

THRASENO. 

And  is  this  all,  my  child !  all  thou  wilt  trust 
To  loving  hearts,  wherein  thou  art  enshrin'd 
The  best,  most  precious  of  all  earthly  things, 
And  second  held  to  nothing  —  save  our  faith  ? 
And  must  we  look  on  thee  as  on  a  book 
Close  seal'd,  yet  full  of  hidden  mysteries 
That  may  affect  our  dearest  happiness  ? 
Miriam  !  it  is  not  well.     Dark  mystery 
Doth  hang  round  nothing  pure  —  save  God  alone  ! 

A* 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 
MIRIAM. 

Oh  no  !  it  is  not  well.     A  voice  within 
Full  oft  hath  whisper'd  me;  "  it  is  not  well." 
And  yet, 

THRASENO. 

"And  yet" !  —  I  dare  not  question  thee. 
A  nameless  fear  is  pressing  on  my  soul. 

EUPHAS. 

Speak,  Miriam  !  seest  thou  not  the  gathering  shade 
Upon  our  father's  brow  ?  —  oh  speak  !  although 
Each  word  in  scorching  flame  should  grave  itself 
Upon  the  hearts  that  love  thee  with  full  trust. 

MIRIAM. 

Euphas !  what  deemest  thou  I  have  to  tell  ? 

A  wild  and  terrible  suspicion  sits 

Within  thy  troubled  eye.     And  can  it  be 

That  hearts  so  young  and  pure  can  dream  of  things 

So  horrible  ?     My  father  !  yon  bright  stars 

Are  o'er  us  with  their  quiet  light ;  the  dews 

Are  falling  softly  from  the  cloudless  sky ; 

The  cool  and  fragrant  breath  of  evening  waves 

Our  rustling  vine  leaves,  —  yet  not  one  of  these 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM, 

Is  purer  than  the  bosom  of  thy  child.     O  father ! 
Brother !  —  ye  do  believe  me  ? 

EUPHAS. 

Do  I  not  ? 
I  could  not  live,  and  doubt  thy  truth. 

THRASENO. 

I  know, 

I  know,  my  child,  that  thou  art  innocent, 
As  native  purity  and  steady  faith 
Can  make  the  heart  of  frail  and  erring  man. 
But  why  should  darkness  hang  around  the  steps 
Of  one  that  loves  the  light  ?     Why  wilt  thou  not 
Let  in  the  beams  of  day  upon  thy  soul 
To  mingle  with  the  kindred  brightness  there  ? 

MIRIAM. 

Urge  me  not  now.     I  cannot  —  cannot  yet. 
Have  I  not  told  you  that  a  starlike  gleam 
Was  rising  on  my  darken'd  mind  ?     When  Hope 
Shall  sit  upon  the  tossing  waves  of  thought, 
As  broods  the  halcyon  on  the  troubled  deep, 
Then,  if  my  spirit  be  not  blighted,  wreck'd, 
Crush* d  —  by  the  storm,  I  will  unfold  my  griefs. 
But  until  then  —  and  Ions;  it  will  not  be  !  — 


8  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Yet  in  that  brief,  brief  time  my  soul  must  bear 
A  fiercer,  deadlier  struggle  still !  —  Ye  dear  ones  ! 
Look  not  upon  me  thus,  but  in  your  thoughts, 
When  ye  go  forth  unto  your  evening  prayers, 
Oh !  bear  me  up  to  Heav'n  with  all  my  grief. 
Pray  that  my  holy  courage  may  not  fail. 
Mark  ye  my  words  ? 

THRASENO. 

Miriam,  come  with  us  ! 
I  have  beheld  thee  sick,  and  sorrowful, 
But  never  thus. 

MIRIAM. 

Father  !  I  cannot  go. 

EUPHAS. 

Know'st  thou  last  night  the  long-tried  Stephen  went 
Unto  his  peaceful  rest  ?  and  we  this  eve 
Are  bidden  to  the  humble  burial, 
Shrouded  in  night,  of  him  whose  virtues  claim'd 
At  least  such  tribute  from  a  Christian  heart. 
Sweet  sister !  come  thou  forth  with  us.     I  know 
Thou  wouldst  not  slight  the  poor  remains  of  him 
Whose  spotless  life  thou  didst  revere  and  love. 


MIRIAM  — A    DEAMATIC    POEM. 
MIRIAM. 

A  ripe  and  goodly  sheaf  hath  gently  falPn. 
Let  peace  be  in  the  good  man's  obsequies ; 
I  will  not  carry  there  a  troubled  soul. 

THRASENO. 

Where  wouldst  thou  seek  for  peace  or  quietness 
If  not  beside  the  altar  of  thy  God  ? 

MIRIAM. 

Within  these  mighty  walls  of  sceptred  Rome 

A  thousand  temples  rise  unto  her  gods, 

Bearing  their  lofty  domes  unto  the  skies, 

Grac'd  with  the  proudest  pomp  of  earth ;  their  shrines 

Glittering  with  gems,  their  stately  colonnades, 

Their  dreams  of  genius  wrought  into  bright  forms, 

Instinct  with  grace  and  godlike  majesty, 

Their  ever-smoking  altars,  white-robed  priests, 

And  all  the  pride  of  gorgeous  sacrifice. 

And  yet  these  things  are  nought.     Rome's  prayers 

ascend 

To  greet  th'  unconscious  skies,  in  the  blue  void 
Lost  like  the  floating  breath  of  frankincense, 
And  find  no  hearing  or  acceptance  there. 
And  yet  there  is  an  Eye  that  ever  marks 


10  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Where  its  own  people  pay  their  simple  vows, 
Though  to  the  rocks,  the  caves,  the  wilderness, 
Scourg'd  by  a  stern  and  ever-watchful  foe ! 
There  is  an  Ear  that  hears  the  voice  of  prayer 
Rising  from  lonely  spots  where  Christians  meet, 
Although  it  stir  not  more  the  sleeping  air 
Than  the  soft  waterfall,  or  forest  breeze. 
Think'st  thou,  my  father,  this  benignant  God 
Will  close  his  ear,  and  turn  in  wrath  away 
From  the  poor  sinful  creature  of  his  hand, 
Who  breathes  in  solitude  her  humble  prayer  ? 
Think'st  thou  he  will  not  hear  me,  should  I  kneel 
Here  in  the  dust  beneath  his  starry  sky, 
And  strive  to  raise  my  voiceless  thoughts  to  Him. 
Making  an  altar  of  my  broken  heart  ? 

THRASENO. 

He  will !  it  were  a  sin  to  doubt  it,  love. 
But  yet  —  must  then  the  funeral  hymn  arise, 
And  thy  melodious  voice  be  wanting  there  ? 
Wilt  thou  alone  of  all  our  little  band  — 
Believe  me,  child,  caprice  and  idle  whim 
Are  born  of  selfishness,  and  aptly  nurs'd 
In  youthful  minds,  where  sin  of  deeper  dye 
Would  shrink  from  entering  at  open  gates, 
Aw'd  by  the  light  of  purity  within. 


MIRIAM —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  11 

MIRIAM. 

That  voice  is  chiding  me !  that  eye  is  stem ! 

EUPHAS. 
He  keenly  feels  each  pang  that  he  inflicts. 

MIRIAM. 

Dear  father !  hear  me  then,  since  I  must  speak ! 

This  evening  hath  its  task,  a  task  of  tears, 

And  strange  and  spirit-crushing  agony ; 

And  here,  ev'n  here,  before  yon  stars  have  set, 

It  must  be  wrought !  Wilt  thou  not  leave  me  then  ? 

Eyes  such  as  thine,  my  father,  must  not  see 

The  strugglings  of  my  soul  with  evil  things. 

But  they  shall  see  me,  and  in  triumph  too, 

When  by  the  strength  that  God  this  night  hath  giv'n, 

I  greet  thee  next  in  innocence  and  peace, 

And  proudly  tell  thee  how  the  battle  went. 

Thou  mayst  not,  canst  not,  aid  me ;  but  alone  — 

(Nay,  not  alone,  O  God !)  —  my  spirit  must 

Be  disciplin'd,  and  wrung,  and  exercis'd, 

Until  I  am,  my  father,  what  I  was,  — 

A  child  that  had  no  secrets  for  thy  ear. 

Wilt  thou  not  go  without  me,  this  one  night  ? 

I  tell  thee  on  this  boon  my  peace  depends : 


12  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Peace !  nay,  far  more  !  more  than  all  earthly  peace  ! 

Wild  as  I  seem,  my  sire,  trust  me  this  once, 

And  when  the  dawn  next  gilds  yon  lofty  shrine, 

Girt  with  its  triple  row  of  statues  fair, 

It  shall  not  greet  one  marble  brow  or  cheek 

More  tranquil  or  more  pure  than  will  be  mine  ! 

THRASENO. 

Then  on  this  promise,  love,  will  I  go  forth. 

Thy  bud  of  life  hath  blown  beneath  mine  eye  ; 

I  cannot  look  on  thee,  and  dream  that  guile 

Or  guilt  is  on  that  lip,  or  in  that  heart. 

But  with  a.  saddened  soul,  and  with  a  tear 

I  cannot  check,  my  child,  I  thus  impress 

My  parting  kiss  upon  thy  brow.     Farewell ! 

God  reads  thy  mystery  —  though  I  may  not. 

May  He  be  with  thee  in  thy  solitude  !  [Exit. 

MIRIAM. 

Best,  best  of  fathers !  —  fare  thee  well !  thy  thoughts. 

Thy  prayers  I  know  are  with  me  still,  and  may 

Bestead  me  in  the  trial  which  draws  nigh. 

My  brother !  must  I  turn  to  thee  with  tears 

To  claim  the  one  poor  boon  of  solitude  ? 

Look  !  the  bright  west  is  fading ;  in  the  east 

The  rising  moon  uprears  her  blood-red  disk, 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  13 

As  if  a  distant  city  were  in  flames 
Upon  yon  dun  horizon's  utmost  verge. 
Why  ling'rest  thou  ?  why  lookest  thou  on  me 
With  such  a  fix'd,  sad,  monitory  gaze  ? 


EUPHAS. 


Sister !  I  too  go  forth,  but  with  a  weight 

Pressing  upon  my  heart.     Would  I  knew  more  — 

Or  less  !    These  strange  and  sad  presentiments 

Are  not  the  coinage  of  a  sickly  mind, 

An  idle  fancy,  prone  to  dream  of  ill. 

Things  that  these  eyes  have  seen,  have  left  behind 

Their  deep,  enduring  shadows  on  my  soul. 

I  could  not  quit  thee  now,  were  there  not  yet 

Within  my  heart  an  ever-springing  hope, 

A  confidence  that  hath  grown  slowly  up, 

Ev'n  from  my  birth  around  my  heart-strings  twined, 

Which  whispers  still  of  peace  and  purity, 

And  lets  me  think  of  nought  but  holiness 

Whene'er  I  gaze  on  thee.     Slowly,  alas  ! 

Doubt  and  suspicion  rise  in  brothers'  hearts. 

Thou  weepest,  Miriam !  wilt  thou  then  relent, 

And  let  me  bide  with  thee  this  dreadful  eve  ? 

If  its  dire  task  be  good 


14  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

MIRIAM. 

Euphas  !  away ! 

And  quickly  too  ! — (Great  God  1  my  Paulus  comes  — 
And  should  they  meet !)  — Oh  !  I  conjure  thee,  boy  ! 
Aye,  in  the  dust,  and  on  my  knees  implore 
That  thou  wilt  leave  me  instantly  !  —  Go  now, 
If  there  is  aught  in  thy  poor  sister's  voice,  — 
Her  supplication  —  that  may  win  one  boon  ! 

EUPHAS. 

Sister,  I  go !  —  I  would  have  warn'd  thee  more, 
Thou  wilful  one  !  —  but  God  be  with  thee  now  !  — 
Temptations  that  are  sought  —  nay,  look  not  thus  ! 
But  oh  !  be  not  too  bold  in  innocence  ! 
A  young  confiding  heart  at  once  lock'd  up  — 
A  self-reliance  that  rejects  such  aid 
As  from  a  loving  brother's  hand  —  Nay,  then  ! 
I  cannot  answer  tears  !  —  Shouldst  thou  repent  — 
Farewell !  [&™t. 

MIRIAM. 

Repent !  not  till  my  bleeding  heart 
Forget  the  faith  for  which  it  yields  its  all  !  — 
Great  God  !  the  hour  is  come,  and  how  unfit 


MIRIAM  — A   DRAMATIC    POEM.  15 

Is  in  her  native  weakness,  thy.  poor  worm 

To  meet  its  agony  !    I  feel  the  peace, 

The  holy  resolution  I  had  nurs'd, 

Dying  away  within  me,  and  my  prayers 

I  fear — I  fear — have  not  been  heard!  —  Now, Father! 

God  of  yon  sparkling  heav'n  !  leave  me  not  now 

Unto  the  sole  support  of  human  strength  !  — 

Was  it  my  fancy?  —  was  it  but  the  breeze, 

That  sudden  shower'd  the  rose  leaves  in  its  sport  ? 

Oh  no !  —  he  comes  —  and  life  seems  failing  me  ! 

Enter  Paulus. 

PAULUS. 

Chide  me  not,  love,  although  the  moon  hath  risen, 

And  melts  her  way  along  those  fleecy  clouds, 

Climbing  midway  unto  her  zenith  point.  — 

My  father  gives  this  night  a  stately  feast, 

Grac'd  with  the  presence  of  Rome's  proudest  lords ; 

And  there,  within  the  long  and  lofty  hall, 

O'ercanopied  with  silver  tissue,  lit 

By  myriads  of  golden  lamps,  that  fed 

With  scented  oils,  pour  light  and  fragrance  round, 

Listless  I  lay,  engarlanded  with  flowers,  — 

And  roving,  in  my  rapt  and  secret  thoughts, 

Hither,  where  thou  in  perfect  loveliness 

Sat'st  like  a  Dryad,  'neath  the  open  sky, 


16  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Waiting  thy  truent  lover :  till  at  last, 

Weary  and  sick  of  all  that  met  my  gaze, 

Heedless  of  guests  or  frowning  sire,  I  rose, 

And  swifter  than  the  young  and  untam'd  steed 

Flies  with  the  wind  across  his  own  free  plains, 

I  sped  to  her  —  from  whom  alone  I  learn'd 

All  that  my  spirit  ever  knew  of  love. 

And  what  that  love  is  —  Miriam,  thou  canst  tell, 

Since  for  thy  sake  I  lay  my  laurels  down 

To  wreath  the  myrtle  round  these  unworn  brows, 

Careless  of  warlike  fame  and  earth's  renown.  — 

But  how  !  thy  cheeks  —  thy  very  lips  —  are  pale  ! 

By  moonlight  paler  than  yon  marble  nymph 

Reclining  graceful  o'er  her  streaming  urn. 

Turn  hither,  love,  and  let  thy  Paulus  read 

If  grief  or  anger  sit  upon  thy  brow. 

Thy  silence,  thine  averted  glances,  strike 

With  dread  unspeakable  my  inmost  soul. 

No  word  of  welcome  —  gods  !  what  meaneth  this  ? 

Never,  except  in  dreams,  have  I  beheld 

Such  deep  and  dreadful  meaning  in  thine  eye, 

Such  agony  upon  thy  quivering  lip  ! 

Speak,  Miriam  !  breathe  one  blessed  word  of  life  ; 

For  in  the  middle  watch  of  yester-night 

Even  thus  I  saw  a  dim  and  shadowy  ghost 

Standing  beneath  the  moon's  uncertain  light, 


MIRIAM  — A   DRAMATIC   POEM.  17 

So  mute  —  so  motionless  —  so  changed  —  and  yet 
So  like  to  thee ! 

MIRIAM. 

My  Paulus ! 

PAULUS. 

'T  is  thy  voice  ! 

Prais'd  be  the  gods  !  it  never  seem'd  so  sweet. 
Say  on  !  my  spirit  hangs  upon  thy  words. 
What  blight  hath  stricken  thee  since  last  we  met  ? 

MIRIAM. 

A  blight  that  is  contagious,  and  will  fall 
Perchance  upon  thy  fairest,  dearest  hopes, 
With  no  less  deadly  violence  than  now 
It  hath  on  mine.     Paulus  !  is  there  no  word 
These  lips  can  utter,  that  may  make  thee  wish 
Eternal  silence  there  had  stamp'd  her  seal  ? 

PAULUS. 

I  know  not,  love  !  thou  startlest  me  !  —  No  !  —  none  ! 
Unless  it  be  of  hatred  —  change  —  or  death  ! 
And  these  —  it  can  be  none  of  these  ! 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 
MIRIAM. 

Why  not  ? 

PAULUS. 

Ye  gods,  my  Miriam  !  look  not  on  me  thus  ! 

My  blood  runs  cold.   «  Why  not,"  saidst  tliou  ?  Because 

Thou  art  too  young  —  too  good  —  too  beautiful 

To  die ;  and  as  for  change  or  hatred,  love, 

Not  till  I  see  yon  clear  and  starry  skies 

Raining  down  fire  and  pestilence  on  man, 

Turning  the  beauteous  earth  whereon  we  stand 

Into  an  arid,  scath'd  and  blackening  waste, 

Miriam  —  will  I  believe  that  thou  canst  change. 

MIRIAM. 

Oh,  thou  art  right !  the  anguish  of  my  soul, 
My  spirit's  deep  and  rending  agony, 
Tell  me  that  though  this  heart  may  surely  break, 
There  is  no  change  within  it !  and  through  life, 

Fondly  and  wildly  —  though  most  hopelessly 

With  all  its  strong  affections  will  it  cleave 

To  him  for  whom  it  nearly  yielded  all 

That  makes  life  precious  —  peace  and  self-esteem, 

Friends  upon  earth,  and  hopes  in  heav'n  above ! 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  19 


PAULUS. 

Mean'st  thou — I  know  not  what.  My  mind  grows  dark 
Amid  a  thousand  'wildering  mazes  lost. 
There  is  a  wild  and  dreadful  mystery 
Ev'n  in  thy  words  of  love  I  cannot  solve. 

MIRIAM. 

Hear  me  —  for  with  the  holy  faith  that  erst 

Made  strong  the  shudd'ring  patriarch's  heart  and  hand, 

When  meek  below  the  glitt'ring  knife  lay  stretch'd 

The  boy  whose  smiles  were  sunshine  to  his  age, 

This  night  I  offer  up  a  sacrifice 

Of  life's  best  hopes  to  the  One  Living  God ! 

Yes,  from  this  night,  my  Paulus,  never  more 

Mine  eyes  shall  look  upon  thy  form,  mine  ears 

Drink  in  the  tones  of  thy  beloved  voice. 

PAULUS. 

Ye  gods  !  ye  cruel  gods  !  let  me  awake 
And  find  this  but  a  dream ! 

MIRIAM 

Is  it  then  said  ? 

O  God  1  the  words  so  fraught  with  bitterness 
So  soon  are  utter' d  —  and  thy  servant  lives !  — 


20  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Aye,  Paulus ;  ever  from  that  hour,  when  first 

My  spirit  knew  that  thine  was  wholly  lost, 

And  to  its  superstitions  wedded  fast, 

Shrouded  in  darkness,  blind  to  every  beam 

Streaming  from  Zion's  hill  athwart  the  night 

That  broods  in  horror  o'er  a  heathen  world, 

Ev'n  from  that  hour  my  shudd'ring  soul  beheld 

A  dark  and  fathomless  abyss  yawn  wide 

Between  us  two  !  and  o'er  it  gleam'd  alone 

One  pale,  dim-twinkling  star !  the  ling'ring  hope 

That  Grace  descending  from  the  Throne  of  Light 

Might  fall  in  gentle  dews  upon  that  heart, 

And  melt  it  into  humble  piety. 

Alas  !  that  hope  hath  faded  !  and  I  see 

The  fatal  gulf  of  separation  still 

Between  us,  love,  and  stretching  on  for  aye 

Beyond  the  grave  in  which  I  feel  that  soon 

This  clay  with  all  its  sorrows  shall  lie  down. 

Union  for  us  is  none,  in  yonder  sky  : 

Then  how  on  earth  ?  —  so  in  my  inmost  soul, 

Nurtur'd  with  midnight  tears,  with  blighted  hopes, 

With  silent  watchings  and  incessant  prayers, 

A  holy  resolution  hath  ta'en  root, 

And  in  its  might  at  last  springs  proudly  up. 

We  part,  my  Paulus  !  not  in  hate,  but  love, 

Yielding  unto  a  stern  necessity. 


MIRIAM  —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  21 

And  I  along  my  sad,  short  pilgrimage, 

Will  bear  the  memory  of  our  sinless  lover, 

As  mothers  wear  the  image  of  the  babe 

That  died  upon  their  bosom  ere  the  world 

Had  stamp'd  its  spotless  soul  with  good  or  ill, 

Pictur'd  in  infant  loveliness  and  smiles, 

Close  to  the  heart's  fond  core,  to  be  drawn  forth 

Ever  in  solitude,  and  bath'd  in  tears.  — 

But  how !  with  such  unmanly  grief  struck  down, 

Wither'd,  thou  Roman  knight ! 

PAULUS. 

My  brain  is  pierc'd ! 

Mine  eyes  with  blindness  smitten  !  and  mine  ear 
Rings  faintly  with  the  echo  of  thy  words  ! 
Henceforth  what  man  shall  ever  build  his  faith 
On  woman's  love  —  on  woman's  constancy?  — 
Maiden  !  look  up  !  I  would  but  gaze  once  more 
Upon  that  open  brow  and  clear,  dark  eye, 
To  read  what  aspect  Perjury  may  wear, 
What  garb  of  loveliness  may  Falsehood  use, 
To  lure  the  eye  of  guileless,  manly  love !  — 
Cruel,  cold-blooded,  fickle  that  thou  art, 
Dost  thou  not  quail  beneath  thy  lover's  eye  ? 
How  !  there  is  light  within  thy  lofty  glance, 


22  M  I  R  I  A  M  —  A    D  R  A  M  A  T  I  C    P  0  E  M  . 

A  flush  upon  thy  cheek,  a  settled  calm 
Upon  thy  lip  and  brow  ! 

MIRIAM. 

Aye,  even  so. 

A  light  —  a  flush  —  a  calm  —  not  of  this  earth  ! 
For  in  this  hour  of  bitterness  and  woe, 
The  Grace  of  God  is  falling  on  rny  soul, 
Like  dews  upon  the  with'ring  grass  which  late 
Red  scorching  flames  have  sear'd.     Again 
The  consciousness  of  faith,  of  sins  forgiven, 
Of  wrath  appeas'd,  of  heavy  guilt  thrown  off, 
Sheds  on  rny  breast  its  long-forgotten  peace, 
And  shining  steadfast  as  the  noonday  sun, 
Lights  me  along  the  path  that  duty  marks. 
Lover  too  dearly  lov'd  !  a  long  farewell ! 
The  banner'd  field  —  the  glancing  spear  —  the  shout 
That  bears  the  victor's  name  unto  the  skies, — 
The  laurell'd  brow  —  be  thine 

PAULUS. 

Maid  !  —  now  hear  me  I 

For  by  thine  own  false  vows  and  broken  faith, 
By  thy  deceitful  lips,  and  dark,  cold  heart 


MIRIAM  —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  23 

MIRIAM. 

Great  God,  support  me  now  !  —  It  cannot  be 
That  from  my  Paulus'  lips  such  bitter  words 

PAULUS. 
Such  bitter  words  !  nay,  maiden,  what  were  thine  ? 

MIRIAM. 

Mine  were  not  spoken,  love,  in  heat  or  wrath, 

But  in  th'  uprightness  of  a  heart  that  knew 

Its  duty  both  to  God  and  man,  and  sought 

Peace  with  its  Maker  —  ere  it  broke.    But  thou 

PAULUS. 

And  I  ?  —  thou  false  one  !  am  not  I  a  man  ? 
A  Roman  too  ?  and  is  a  Roman's  heart 
A  plaything  made  for  girls  to  toy  withal, 
And  then  to  keep  or  idly  fling  away, 
As  the  light  fancy  of  the  moment  prompts  ? 
Have  I  then  stoop'd  to  win  thy  fickle  love 
From  my  proud  pinnacle  of  rank  and  fame, 
Wasting  my  youth's  best  season  on  a  dream, 
Forgetful  of  my  name,  my  sire,  my  gods, 
To  be  thus  trifled  with  and  scorn'd  at  last  ? 


24  MIRIAM  —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

MIRIAM. 

Canst  thou  not  learn  to  hate  me  ? 

PAULUS. 
O  ye  gods ! 
With  what  a  look  of  calm  despair 

MIRIAM. 

Aye,  Paulus  ! 

Never,  in  all  my  deep  despondency, 
In  all  the  hours  of  dark  presentiment 
In  which  my  fancy  often  conjur'd  up 
This  scene  of  trial  —  did  my  spirit  dream 
Of  bitterness  like  that  which  now  thy  hand 
Is  pouring  in  my  cup  of  life.     Alas ! 
Must  we  then  part  in  anger  ?  shall  this  hour, 
With  harsh  upbraidings  marr'd 

PAULUS. 

Syren  !  in  vain  — 

Would  I  could  learn  to  hate  thee !  trampling  down 
The  mem'ry  of  my  fond  and  foolish  love, 
As  I  would  crush  an  adder  'neath  my  heel ! 
But  no  !  the  poison  rankles  in  my  veins  ;  — 
It  may  not  be ;  —  each  look  and  tone  of  thine 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Tells  me  that  yet  thou  art  my  bosom's  queen, 
And  each  vain,  frantic  struggle  only  draws 
Closer  around  my  heart  the  woven  toils. 

[A  pause. 

Miriam  !  my  pride  is  bow'd  —  my  wrath  subdued  — 
My  heart  attun'd  e'en  to  thy  slightest  will, — 
So  that  thou  yet  wilt  let  me  linger  on, 
Hoping  and  dreaming  that  thou  hat'st  me  not, 
Suffer' d  to  come  at  times,  and  sadly  gaze 
Upon  thy  loveliness,  as  if  thou  wert 
A  Dian  shrin'd  within  her  awful  fane, 
Made  to  be  look'd  upon  and  idoliz'd, 
But  in  whose  presence  passion's  lightest  pulse, 
Love's  gentlest  whisper,  were  a  deadly  sin. 
Cast  me  not  from  thee,  love !  send  me  not  forth 
Blasted  and  wan  into  a  heartless  world, 
Amid  its  cold  and  glittering  pageantry, 
To  learn  what  utter  loneliness  of  soul, 
What  wordless,  deep,  and  sick'ning  misery, 
Is  in  the  sense  of  unrequited  love  ! 

MIRIAM. 

I  cannot  —  must  not  hear  thee.     Even  now 
A  chord  is  touched  within  my  soul.  —  Great  God ! 
Where  is  the  strength  thou  didst  vouchsafe  of  late  ? 
Anger  —  reproach  —  were  better  borne  than  this  ! 

c 


25 


26  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 


PAULUS. 

Why  should  thy  gentler  nature  thus  be  crush'd ': 
Is  not  the  voice  within  thee  far  more  just 
Than  the  harsh  dictates  of  thy  gloomy  faith  ? 
Thy  stern  and  unrelenting  Deity 

MIRIAM. 

Youth  !  thou  remindest  me  —  thou  dost  blaspheme 

The  God  of  Mercy  whom  I  serve ;  and  now 

Courage  and  strength  return  at  once  to  nerve 

My  trembling  limbs,  my  weak  and  yielding  soul. 

What  wouldst  thou  have  ?  that  I  should  yet  drag  on 

A  life  of  dark  and  vile  hypocrisy, 

Days  full  of  fear  and  nights  of  vain  remorse, 

And  love,  though  sinless,  yet  not  innocent  ? 

For  well  I  know  that  when  thy  sunny  smiles 

Are  on  me,  sternly  frowning  doth  look  down 

My  Maker  on  our  stolen  interview  ! 

It  is  a  crime  of  dye  too  deep  and  dark 

To  be  wash'd  out  but  with  a  life  of  tears, 

And  penitence,  and  utter  abstinence. 

I  never  will  behold  thy  face  again ! 

My  soul  shall  be  unlock'd  and  purified, 

And  there  the  eyes  of  those  that  love  me  well 

Shall  find  no  dark  and  sinful  mystery, 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  27 

Shunning  a  tender  father's  scrutiny, 

And  weighing  down  my  spirit  to  the  dust. 

Paulus !  —  again  —  farewell !  yet  —  yet  in  peace 
We  part ! 

PAULUS. 

Maiden  !  by  all  my  perish' d  hopes, 
By  the  overwhelming  passion  of  my  soul, 
By  the  remembrance  of  that  fatal  hour 
When  first  I  spake  to  thee  of  love  —  and  thought 

That  thou Aye  !  by  the  sacred  gods,  I  swear, 

I  will  not  yield  thee  thus !    In  open  day, 

Before  my  father's  eyes  —  and  bearing  too 

Perchance  his  malediction  on  my  head  — 

Before  the  face  of  all  assembled  Rome, 

Bann'd  though  I  be  by  all  her  priests  and  gods,  — 

Thee  —  thee  will  I  lead  forth  —  my  Christian  bride  ! 

MIRIAM. 

Aye  !  sayst  thou  so,  my  Paulus  ?  thou  art  bold, 

And  generous.     Meet  bridal  will  it  be  — 

The  stake  —  the  slow  red  fire  —  perchance  the  den 

Of  hungry  lions,  gnashing  with  white  teeth 

In  savage  glee  at  sight  of  thy  young  bride, 

Their  destin'd  prey !  for  well  thou  know'st  that  these 

Are  but  the  tend'rest  mercies  of  thy  sire 


28  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

To  the  scorn'd  sect,  whose  lofty  faith  my  soul 
Holds  fast  through  torments  worse  than  aught  that  these 
Can  offer  to  the  clay  wherein  it  dwells. 

PAULUS. 

Drive  me  not  mad  !  —  Nay —  nay—  I  have  not  done  ; 
The  dark  cold  waters  of  despair  rise  fast, 
But  have  not  yet  o'ertopped  each  resting-place. 
We  will  go  forth  upon  the  bounding  sea, 
We  two  alone,  and  chase  the  god  of  day 
O'er  the  broad  ocean,  where  each  eve  he  dips 
His  blazing  chariot  in  the  western  wave, 
And  seek  some  lonely  isle  of  peace  and  love, 
Where  ling'ring  summer  dwells  the  livelong  year, 
Wasting  the  music  of  her  happy  birds, 
The  unpluck'd  richness  of  her  golden  fruits, 
The  fragrance  of  her  blossoms  o'er  the  land. 
And  we  will  be  the  first  to  tread  the  turf, 
And  raise  our  quiet  hearth  and  altars  there, 
And  thou  shalt  fearless  bow  before  the  Cross, 
Praying  unto  what  unknown  God  thou  wilt, 
While  I  - 

MIRIAM. 

No  more,  my  Paulus  !  it  is  vain. 
Why  should  we  thus  unnerve  our  souls  with  dreams, 


MIRIAM  — A   DRAMATIC    POEM.  29 

With  fancies  wilder,  idler  far  than  dreams? 

Our  destiny  is  fix'd !  the  hour  is  come  ! 

And  wilt  thou  that  a  frail  and  trembling  girl 

Should  meet  its  anguish  with  a  steadier  soul 

Than  thine,  proud  soldier! — Ha !  what  hurried  step— 

Enter  Euphas. 

EUPHAS. 

Sister !  I  have  escap'd  —  I  scarce  know  how ;  — 
Their  shrieks  yet  ring  within  my  thrilling  ears. 
The  foe  hath  burst  upon  th'  unfinished  rites, 

Slaughtering  some,  and  bearing  off  in  bonds 

Just  Heav'n  !  —  what  man  is  this  ? 

MIRIAM. 

Oh,  answer  me ! 
And  say  our  father  is  unhurt ! 

EUPHAS. 

Hear,  Miriam ! 

I  will  be  answer'd  first !  what  knight  is  this  ? 
What  doth  he  here  ?  [A.  pause. 

Oh  grief!  can  this  be  so  ? 
Would  I  had  died  among  their  glitt'ring  swords, 
Pouring  my  life-blood  from  a  thousand  wounds, 
Ere  my  young  eyes  had  seen  this  cruel  shame ! 
c* 


30  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Hast  thou  no  subterfuge  at  hand,  pale  girl  ? 
Well  may  convulsion  wring  thy  trembling  lip ! 
Were  I  a  Roman  boy  —  of  Roman  faith  — 
This  hand  ere  now  —  But  no  !  —  I  could  not  do't ! 
Thou  art  too  like  the  saint  that  bore  us  both  1 
Let  me  be  gone. 

MIRIAM. 

Stay,  stay,  rash  boy  !  Alas  — 
The  thickening  horrors  of  this  awful  night 
Have  flung,  me  thinks,  a  spell  upon  my  soul. 
I  tell  thee,  Euphas,  thou  hast  far  more  cause, 
Proudly  to  clasp  my  breaking  heart  to  thine, 
And  bless  me  with  a  loving  brother's  praise, 
Than  thus  to  stand  with  sad  but  angry  eye, 
Hurling  thy  hasty  scorn  upon  a  brow, 
As  sinless  as  thine  own  —  breaking  the  reed 
But  newly  bruised  —  pouring  coals  of  fire 
Upon  my  fresh  and  bleeding  wounds  !  —  Oh,  tell  me, 
What  hath  befall'n  my  father  ?    Say  he  lives, 
Or  let  me  lay  my  head  upon  thy  breast, 
And  die  at  once  ! 

EUPHAS. 

He  lives  —  the  old  man  lives. 
See  that  thou  kill  him  not.     Let  me  pass  on. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  31 

MIRIAM. 

Tell  me  in  mercy  first,  —  where  is  our  sire  ? 
Why  art  thou  here  alone  ? 

EUPHAS. 

Hast  thou  no  fear 

To  take  that  honor'd  name  upon  thy  lips ! 
I  meant  with  gentlest  caution  to  have  told 
Tidings  so  fraught  with  woe ;  —  't  were  useless  now. 
Maiden  !  he  is  a  pris'ner ! 

MIRIAM. 

Oh !  just  Heav'n ! 

EUPHAS. 

They  master'd  him  —  the  ruthless  slaves  —  while  I, 
Lurking  securely  'mid  the  copsewood  near, 
With  shudd'ring  frame  and  half-averted  eye 
Beheld  them  rudely  bind  his  wither' d  hands, 
And  mock  his  struggles  impotent,  and  rend 
The  decent  silver  locks  upon  his  brow, 
While  overhead  the  fair  and  quiet  moon 
Sail'd  on,  and  lent  her  light  to  deeds  so  foul ! 
And  then  I  saw  him  meekly  led  away 
Amid  a  throng  of  shrieking  captives,  men, 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Women,  and  babes,  unto  the  dungeon  drear, 
Whence  he  will  never  issue  but  to  die 
A  death  of  shame  and  cruel  agony  ! 
And  yet  I  stirr'd  not —  for  I  deem'd  there  grew 
A  spotless  lily  in  the  wilderness, 
Whose  unprotected  sweetness  none  but  I 
Might  shelter  from  the  blast !  I  fondly  dream'd 
Thou  wert  too  pure,  too  good,  too  beautiful, 
To  be  thus  flung  upon  the  cold  wide  world, 
Bearing  the  faith  that  men  do  trample  on, 
Alone  and  helpless  —  orphan'd  —  brotherless  ! 
And  so  my  kind  and  aged  parent  went 
Unaided,  unconsoPd.     Shame  on  these  tears ! 
Could  I  have  dream'd  the  dove  would  shelter  her 
Beneath  the  vulture's  foul  and  treacherous  wing  ? 
Alas,  my  father !  sweeter  far  this  night 
Will  be  thy  rest  within  thy  noisome  cell, 
And  more  light-hearted  wilt  thou  rise  at  dawn 
To  front  the  bloody  Piso 


MIRIAM. 

Ha  !  dost  hear  ? 


PAULUS. 

I  hear  —  and  I  rejoice. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  33 

EUPHAS. 

How  ?  ruffian  !    Here  ? 
Art  thou  still  here  ?     I  had  forgotten  thee  ! 
But  by  the  strength  the  God  of  justice  gives, 

In  this  death-grapple  thou  shalt  surely  die ! 

/ 

PAULUS. 

Art  thou  so  hot  ?    Unloose  my  throat,  vain  boy ! 
Beardless,  unarm'd,  and  nerveless  as  thou  art, 
To  risk  thyself  in  desperate  struggle  thus, 
With  one  whose  slightest  effort  masters  thee 
As  lightly  as  the  bird  of  Jove  bears  off 

The  panting  dove  ! 

Thou  seest  I  harm  him  not. 
Thou  know'st  I  would  not  hurt  one  glossy  curl 

Upon  thy  brother's  head. [To  Euphas. 

Go  !  thou  art  safe. 
I  could  not  slay  my  bitterest  enemy, 
Were  he  as  young  and  beautiful  as  thou, 
And  much  less  thee,  —  in  such  a  cause  as  this. 
Take  thou  thy  life. 

EUPHAS. 

I  thank  thee  not.  —  Alas  ! 
Thou  couldst  not  proffer  a  more  worthless  gift. 


34  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Why  should  I  live  ?     I  look  upon  yon  girl 
Weeping  her  bitter  grief  and  self-reproach 
In  utter  hopelessness  —  and  pray  thee  take 
The  life  which  thou  hast  made  so  valueless. 

PAULUS. 

Be  still.     Why  pratest  thou  of  misery 
To  one  on  whose  devoted  head  the  gods 
Have  pour'd  the  cup  of  vengeance,  long  deferr'd. 
With  such  a  fierce  and  unrelenting  wrath, 

O 

That  glory  —  riches  —  fame  —  and  e'en  the  name 
I  proudly  bore  —  the  hopes  that  rose  this  morn 
As  if  the  fire  that  lit  them  were  from  heav'n  — 
And  life  itself —  are  now  no  more  to  me 

Than  last  night's  dream. 

One  duty  yet  remains  — 

And  when  that's  done!  —  Look  on  these  features,  boy 
Hast  thou  not  seen  me  on  high  festal  days, 
Deck'd  with  the  tossing  plume  and  snow-white  robe, 
And  bearing  high  my  proud  and  knightly  brow 
Amid  the  throng  of  Rome's  degenerate  lords  ? 
Or  did  the  abject  Syrian  boy  ne'er  dare 
To  lift  his  looks  so  hiirh  ? 

O 

EUPHAS. 

I  scan  thy  face, 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  35 

Proud  youth  !  the  lightnings  leaping  from  thine  eye 

Avouch  thee  of  a  high  and  haughty  race. 

But  of  the  name  thou  bear'st  I  only  know 

Thy  deeds  have  steep'd  it  in  such  infamy, 

That  the  pale  statues  of  thy  vaunted  sires, 

Lining  thy  hall,  will  surely  one  day  leap 

Forth  from  their  niches  in  their  livino-  scorn, 

o  J 

And  crush  thee  into  senseless,  shapeless  dust. 
I  seek  to  know  no  more. 

PAULUS. 

Stripling !  beware ! 

The  powerful  magic  hidden  in  that  name 
Alone  can  bid  thy  father's  prison  open. 
I  am  the  son  of  Piso. 

EUPHAS. 

Is  it  so  ? 

Thou  —  the  proud  Paulus  —  lurking  here  by  night, 
Prowling  with  stealthy  foot  around  the  cot, 
Where  in  her  innocence  there  dwelt  a  maid 
Born  and  baptized  in  the  Christian  faith ! 
Thou  Piso's  son  ?     Then  by  the  God  we  serve, 
Thou  'rt  taken  in  the  toils.     Lo  !  this  way  come 
Glittering  in  arms  my  father's  trusty  friends, 
Whom  I  had  summon'd  hither  but  to  aid 


36  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

The  orphans  with  their  counsel  —  ere  I  dream'd 

Alas ! 

MIRIAM. 

I  hear  th£  tread  of  heavy  feet ! 
And  'mid  the  trees  I  see  their  dusky  forms ! 
Fly,  Paulus,  fly ! 

PAULUS. 

Am  I  so  base,  think'st  thou  ? 

MIRIAM. 

They  come !  with  wrath  upon  their  lurid  brows. 
In  mercy,  fly  !  —  O  God  !  it  is  too  late  ! 

PAULUS. 

Is  it  thy  madness  or  thy  love  that  speaks  ? 

What  is  to  thee  this  foolish  life  of  mine  ? 

Thou  in  thine  hour  of  triumph  and  cold  scorn 

Hast  crush'd  the  heart  wherein  it  beats  —  ev'n  yet  — 

Too  fondly  beats  for  thee !  Wouldst  thou  that  death 

Should  not  be  wholly  pangless  ?  —  Spare  thy  words  ; 

Thou  lov'st  me  not,  —  the  mockery  is  ill-timed. 

EUPHAS. 

Hither,  my  friends,  with  speedier  steps. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  37 

Ent&r  armed  Christians. 

Ye  come, 

Girt  with  no  needless  weapons,  to  the  cot 
Of  him  who  calPd  you  to  a  gentler  task. 
Lo  !  in  the  dove's  own  nest  the  serpent  coiPd ! 
So  that  ye  ask  not  why  he  hither  came, 
Do  what  ye  list.     It  is  the  haughty  son 
Of  him  whose  myrmidons  this  night  have  snatch'd 
Your  own  best  treasures  shrieking  from  your  arms. 
Turning  your  hymns  and  holy  prayers  to  groans, 
Drenching  th'  unburied  dust  of  him  ye  lov'd 
With  martyr's  blood,  and  waking  in  your  hearts 
The  stern,  deep  cry  for  vengeance  ! 

MIRIAM. 

O  my  brother ! 

How  have  such  words  a  place  on  Christian  lips  ? 
Hear  me,  ye  upright  men !    Bare  not  your  swords. 
The  youth  on  whom  ye  bend  such  dreadful  eyes 
Is  innocent  of  all  —  except  the  love, 
The  world-forgetting  love  he  cherish3 d 

EUPHAS. 

Miriam  ! 
Dumb  be  the  shameless  tongue  that  would  proclaim 


38  MIRIAM -A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

What  in  a  brother's  patient  love  I  sought 
To  hide  from  mortal  eye ! 


MIRIAM. 

It  is  too  much  ! 

My  innocence Why  do  I  grow  so  weak  ? 

Wrongly  and  harshly  dost  thou  judge  of  me ! 
Oh  !  for  one  breeze  of  purer,  fresher  air, 
To  sweep  away  the  gath'ring  mist  that  dims 
My  failing  sight ! 

EUPHAS. 

She  faints  !  Let  me  not  look 
Upon  her  lifeless  form,  lest  it  awake 
Pity  that  were  a  sin  ! 

PAULUS. 

How  beautiful 

Ev'n  in  her  deathlike  paleness  doth  she  lie ! 
Fairest  1  from  that  kind  swoon  awake  not  yet. 
Thy  words  were  love? — one  struggle  then  for  life. 
Meantime,  in  blest  unconsciousness,  perchance 
Thou'lt  'scape  a  bloody  sight.  —  Ye  men  of  peace  ! 
I  wait  my  doom.     Ye  !  who  do  boast  your  faith 
A  faith  of  love  and  peace  and  charity, 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  39 

Look  on  the  son  of  Piso,  and  declare 

If,  in  his  helplessness,  your  unarm'd  foe 

Shall  live  or  die.  —  Ye  pause  ?  —  I  am  prepar'd. 

Though  my  young  heart,  that  still  beats  steadily, 

Be  of  a  softer  temper  than  my  sire's,  — 

Though  the  same  voice  that  boldly  bids  you  strike, 

Ofttimes  for  hours  has  sued  most  earnestly 

To  my  stern  father  for  a  Christian's  life,  — 

Hath  bid  the  fire  be  quench'd,  the  tiger  chain'd, 

The  scarce-believing  captive  given  back 

Ev'n  from  the  grasp  of  death,  to  the  wild  pray'rs, 

The  blessings,  and  the  tears  of  those  he  lov'd,  — 

Yet  do  I  claim  no  mercy  at  your  hands. 

Do  with  me  as  you  list — rememb'ring  this  — 

The  blood  within  these  veins  is  innocent 

As  that  which  stain'd  the  floor  of  yonder  cave ! 

How  !  —  with  a  sudden  frown  ye  wildly  pluck 
Your  daggers  forth  ?    They  gleam  before  an  eye 
That  quivers  not.  —  But  thou  —  thou  who  art  yet 
A  mild  and  gentle-hearted  boy,  arise  ! 
Lift  up  thy  buried  face,  and  let  me  look 
Once  more  upon  its  beauty  —  so  like  her's, 
In  all  its  pale  and  touching  loveliness ! 
Thou  stirrest  not  —  I  hear  thy  stifled  sobs ! 
Bid'st  thou  the  deed  thou  dar'st  not  look  upon  ? 


40  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 


EUPHAS. 

Let  him  not  die  ! 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

He  must. 

EUPHAS. 

Oh  no  !  not  thus 

Religion  asks  the  service  of  our  hands. 
The  spirit  of  her  mild  and  bloodless  laws 
Requires  not  life  for  life.     Let  him  go  forth. 

PAULUS. 

Boy !  with  that  word  thou  hast  undrawn  the  bolts 
That  close  the  deep,  dark  dungeon  on  thy  sire, 
And  loos'd  the  heavy  shackles  on  his  arms. 
For  ev'ry  idle  drop  of  Piso's  blood 
Ye  in  your  wrath  and  blind  revenge  had  shed, 
One  pang  the  more  had  wrung  those  aged  limbs. 
But  while  I  live,  a  blessed  hope  yet  beams 
Upon  the  dire  captivity  ye  mourn. 

EUPHAS. 

Thou  silver-tongued  deceiver !    Is  it  thus 
Thou  wouldst  escape  us  !  Think'st  thou  that  because 


MIRIAM  — A   DRAMATIC    POEM.  41 

My  Christian  heart  relented  at  the  thought 

Of  one  lone,  helpless  victim's  blood  pour'd  forth 

As  water  in  revengeful  sacrifice, 

I  have  become  a  weak,  believing  girl, 

All  fond  credulity  and  hope  ?  —  Peace  !  —  peace  ! 

When  thy  deluding  accents  sound  most  sweet, 

Most  do  I  dread  thy  deep  hypocrisy. 

There  is  no  hope  ! 

PAULUS. 

No  hope  !  Ye  gods  !  —  my  Miriam  ! 
To  thee  and  thine  how  humbly  croucheth  down 
The  lion  thou  hast  tam'd  ! 

EUPHAS. 

Nay,  let  him  go  ! 

Hence  in  thy  cruel  treachery  to  thy  sire  ! 
Tell  him  that  other  Christians  worship  yet 
The  one  pure  God  within  the  walls  of  Rome. 
Bid  him  plant  thick  his  stakes,  to  fury  lash 
His  howling  monsters  from  the  wilderness  ; 
And,  ere  the  dawn,  be  sure  thy  myrmidons 
Seize  the  forsaker  of  his  helpless  sire, 
And  let  him  end  his  brief  and  blighted  days, 
Withering  for  hours  upon  the  welcome  cross 
D* 


42  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

In  pangs  —  scarce  worse   than  those  remembrance 

brings. 

Go,  get  thee  hence  !    I  spare  thy  wretched  life  ; 
But  on  thy  brow  I  pour  the  utter  scorn, 
The  deep  abhorrence  of  my  soul ! 

PAULUS. 

Wake,  maiden  ! 

Why  is  thy  fearful  swoon  so  long  !  Alas  ! 
Looking  upon  thy  deathlike  loveliness, 
I  hear  strange,  scornful  words,  and  heed  them  not  ! 

EUPHAS. 

Mourneth  the  whirlwind  o'er  the  broken  flow'r? 
Gaze  not  upon  the  ruin  thou  hast  made. 
Go  to  thy  sire,  and  tell  him 

PAULUS. 

Stripling !  hear ! 

That  sire  hath  now  no  son  !    I  give  myself 
A  pledge  and  hostage  for  your  father's  life ; 
And  if  the  morrow's  sun  bring  not  your  friends 
Back  from  their  dreary  dungeon  to  your  arms, 
Let  the  bright  daggers  gleaming  round  me  now 
Drink  the  young  blood  of  Piso's  only  son  ! 
Go  thou  and  tell  my  father  this  ! 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  43 

EUPHAS. 

Roman  ! 

I  take  thee  at  thy  word  !    I  go  !  —  Perchance 
Thou  wouldst  but  lead  me  to  the  lion's  den. 
But  if  thy  words  be  craft,  and  thy  designs 
Pregnant  with  direst  mischief  to  my  life, 
It  matters  not ;  for  I  have  that  at  stake 
Would  lead  me  on  through  fire  and  pestilence, 
Famine,  and  thirst,  and  keenest  agony, 
Fearless  and  struggling  still  while  hope  remain'd ! 
My  father  !  what  hath  earth  to  daunt  mine  eye, 
Seeking  to  gaze  once  more  upon  that  brow 
I  should  have  died  to  shield  from  violence  ? 
No  !   I  have  nought  below  the  skies  but  thee 
And  to  the  wild  beast's  lair  I  rush  at  once 
To  save  thee,  or  to  die  !  —  My  sister  !  —  nay  ! 
Let  me  not  look  on  he?' !  —  Oh,  who  could  dream 
Falsehood  had  crept  within  a  shrine  so  fair  ? 
Let  me  turn  from  her,  ere  the  memory 

Of  what  she  was 

My  father's  friends  !  bear  ye 
The  hostage  of  our  kindred's  lives  away 
Up  to  the  lonely  garden,  by  the  wall 
Where  we  have  sometimes  met,  and  there  await 
The  answer  I  shall  bring.     If  when  the  sun 


44  M  I  R  I  A  31  —  A    D  R  A  M  A  T  I  C    P  0  E  M  . 

Wakes  with  his  first  red  beam  the  matin  birds, 

I  come  not  yet,  nor  from  the  rising  ground 

Ye  should  mark  aught  approach  that  tokens  good, 

Deem  that  my  father's  cell  hath  clos'd  on  me, 

That  in  my  youth  I  am  held  fit  to  wear 

The  martyr's  glorious  crown  —  and  that  no  pow'r, 

No  earthly  pow'r,  can  save  the  friends  ye  love 

Out  of  the  spoiler's  hand.     Ye  know  the  rest. 

[Exit 

PAULUS. 

The  rest !  —  blood  rudely  shed  —  untimely  death  — 

And  an  ignoble  grave  —  are  in  that  word. 

Oh !  for  one  touch  of  that  high  energy, 

That  eager  spirit  thrilling  through  each  vein, 

That  in  my  days  of  young  renown  and  pride 

Bore  me  triumphant  in  the  battle's  van, 

Where  brightest  flashed  the  swords  and  thickest  flew 

The  barbed  javelins  round  my  glitt'ring  shield  ! 

Christians !  ere  we  go  hence,  I  would  but  look 
Once  more  upon  her  face !  I  hear  a  voice 
Sighing  her  dirge  among  yon  rustling  leaves, 
And  calling  him  whose  spirit  lived  in  her's 
Away  —  away  from  worldly  sin  and  woe. 
And  I  would  learn  from  that  calm,  marble  brow 
The  deep  and  blest  repose  there  is  in  death  ! 

[A  cloud  crosses  the  moon. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  45 

How  !  doth  the  God  she  worshipped  thus  forbid 
The  sinner's  eye  to  gaze  on  things  so  pure  ? 
pass  —  shadow  —  pass  !  —  a  holier  light  than  thine, 
Fair  orb  !  falls  on  my  dark  and  troubled  soul, 
While  thus  I  drink  in  peace  and  quietness 

Gazing  upon  my  Miriam's  silent  face  ! 

Ye  gods !   methought  a  sudden  quivering  ran 
O'er  her  pale  lips  and  eyelids  softly  clos'd  ! 
She  stirs  !  —  she  sighs  !  —  she  looks  upon  me  now  ! 
Life  —  life  and  light  are  waking  in  her  eye ! 

MIRIAM. 

Methought  once  more  in  dear  Judea's  land, 

A  child  by  Siloe's  gushing  fount  I  sat 

Close  by  my  angel-mother's  knee,  and  heard 

The  holy  hymns  she  sweetly  sung  each  night 

Unto  our  God,  while  ever  and  anon 

The  quiet  murmur  of  the  brook  came  in, 

Filling  each  pause  with  softest  melody, 

Even  as  it  was  wont,  years  —  years  ago  ! 

Was  it  an  idle  vision  of  the  night  ?  a  trance  ? 

Where  am  I  now  ?  whose  dark  bright  eyes  are  these 

Gazing  upon  me  thus  ?    Euphas  !  my  sire  ! 

Where  are  ye  both  ?  [rising  suddenly}    Alas !  alas  ! 

too  well 
I  do  remember  all  ! 


46  M  I  R  I  A  M  —  A    D  R  A  M  A  T  I  C    POEM. 

PAULUS 

My  Miriam  !  Dost  not 
Remember  me  ? 

MIRIAM. 

Peace  !  —  peace  !  that  voice  —  it  kills 

Oh  !  for  the  deep  and  blest  forgetfulness 

Where  is  my  brother  ? 

PAULUS. 

Am  I  then  so  hateful  ? 

Wilt  thou  not  hear  my  voice,  although  it  speak 
Of  those 

MIRIAM. 

Tell  me,  ye  men  of  anxious  brow, 
Where  is  the  dark-hair'd  boy  ?  the  boy  I  lov'd 
Ev'n  from  his  cradle  better  than  my  life  ! 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

He  hath  gone  forth. 

MIRIAM. 

Gone  forth  —  said  ye  ?  —  and  whither  ? 
Alone  —  unarm'd  ? 


MIRIAM  —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  47 

PAULUS 

Hear  from  my  lips  the  tale  ! 
Up  to  my  father's  palace  hath  he  gone, 
Alone  —  unarm' d 

MIRIAM. 

Enough  —  enough  !  —  just  God 
Now  doth  thy  wrath  fall  heavy  on  my  soul ! 

PAULUS. 
Wilt  thou  not  hear  what  purpose  led  him  forth  ? 

MIRIAM. 

I  know  it  —  and  I  pray  you,  let  me  pass  ! 

PAULUS. 
How  !  —  whither  wouldst  thou  go  ? 

MIRIAM. 

To  die  !  —  with  him 

With  them  !  —  are  they  not  both  to  die  ? ; 

PAULUS. 

Nay  —  nay ! 
None  whom  thou  lov'st  shall  die.   I  bade  him  say 


48  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

MIRIAM. 

How  !  was  he  sent  —  sent,  Paulus !  —  and  by  thee  1 
I  will  not  stay !  loose  me  !  the  air  grows  thick  — 
I  cannot  breathe  !  -    —Alas  !  betray 'd  — betray'd 
Even  into  the  tyrant's  hand  !  so  young ! 
So  good  —  so  innocent  —  oh,  my  brother  ! 

PAULUS. 

Hear  me  this  once !  Weep,  if  thou  wilt,  but  hear ! 

MIRIAM. 

I  have  no  pow'r  to  move.     The  God  who  gave 
Hath  ta'en  away  the  sinner's  wasted  strength. 
Say  on ;  but  let  my  brother  be  thy  theme. 

PAULUS. 

Terror  and  blank  dismay  he  bears  with  him 
This  night  into  my  father's  stately  halls. 
Think'st  thou  the  unknown  tyrant  whom  thou  hat'st, 
He  whom  thy  sire's  deep  wrongs  have  bid  thee  curse, 
Will  feel  no  shuddering  when  he  hears  the  tale 
Told  by  thy  brother's  lips  —  perchance  ere  now  ? 
Knowing  that  by  some  dark,  mysterious  chance, 
Fierce  Christian  swords  are  closing  round  my  breast, 
Ready  with  morn's  first  beam  to  drink  my  blood  — 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  49 

Thinks't  thou,  to  save  this  young  and  much-priz'd  life. 
He  would  not  give  a  thousand  Christians  back 
From  their  barr'd  cells  ?  —  nay  —  from  the  lifted  cross  ? 
Thou  know'st  him  not. 

MIRIAM. 

Paulus  !  dost  thoii  believe 
I  shall  again  behold  my  father's  face  ? 
Or  that  the  noble  boy,  whom  thou  hast  sent 
Up  to  the  house  of  blood  and  cruel  fraud, 
Will  ever  from  that  den  return  unharm'd  ? 


PAULUS. 

I  am  my  father's  only  son,  and  lov'd 

As  only  sons  alone  are  ever  lov'd.     In  this 

Lieth  my  hope. 

MIRIAM. 

Thy  hope  !  oh  God  !  —  thy  hope  : 
Is  it  no  more  ?  —  thou  shouldst  have  been  assured. 
Ere  thou  hadst  risk'd  a  life  I  hold  so  dear. 
Oh,  why  doth  trusting  woman  plant  her  hopes 
In  the  unknown  quicksands  of  a  stranger's  faith  ? 
She  should  love  none  she  hath  not  known  from  birth  • 
Or  look  to  be  deceiv'd  —  as  I  have  been. 


50  MIRIAM-A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Why  dost  thou  stay  me  thus  ?    Lo !  I  am  call'd  ! 
T  must  be  there  to  close  their  eyes  !  —  Away  ! 

PAULUS. 
Hear  me,  my  Miriam  ! 

MIRIAM. 

Nay  !  't  is  past !  Away. 
That  voice  was  once  a  spell ; —  it  is  all  o'er ! 
Why  dost  thou  call  me  thine  ?    I  have  no  part 
In  thee,  nor  thou  in  me ;  —  and  we  love  not, 
Hate  not,  and  worship  not  alike.     How  then 
Can  I  be  thine  ?    I  pray  thee,  let  me  go  ! 

PAULUS. 

And  whither  then  ? 

MIRIAM. 

I  know  not !  —  Where  are  they  1 

PAULUS. 

They  will  be  here  ere  morn. 

MIRIAM. 

Thou  think'st  not  so ! 
Youth  !  thou  hast  learn'd  deceit. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM-  51 

PAULUS. 

I  bear  all  this  ! 

I  mark  the  frightful  paleness  of  thy  cheek, 
The  wild  and  wandering  glances  of  thine  eye, 
And  stifle  down  my  utter  agony. 
Oh,  what  a  night  is  this  ! 

MIRIAM. 

Am  I  so  pale  ? 

It  is  thy  work  —  and,  for  a  gentle  youth, 
Strange  havoc  hast  thou  caus'd  —  much  misery ! 
Say'st  thou  my  looks  are  wild  ?    It  is  because 
I  linger  here  with  thee,  when  I  should  fly 
E'en  to  earth's  farthest  bounds. —  I  will  be  gone  ! 
Aye  !  I  am  weak,  but  not  in  spirit,  youth ! 
And  the  rous'd  soul  hath  strength  to  lift  its  clay. 
I  must  behold  the  boy's  dark  curls  once  more, 
And  stroke  again  my  father's  silver  locks, 
And  hear  their  last,  last  words  of  pardoning  love. 
And  learn  of  them,  pure  martyrs  !  how  to  die  ! 
Think'st  thou  I  shall  have  pow'r  to  look  on  them 
Ev'n  to  the  last,  through  all  their  agonies  ? 
Or  will  he  graciously  let  me  die  first  ? 


52  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

PAULUS. 

It  is  too  much  ! 

MIRIAM. 

Nay,  if  I  haste,  he  may  ! 

Why  dost  thou  hold  me  ?    I  am  growing  strong. 
And  thou,  methinks,  art  weak  ! 

[Bursting  from  him]         Lo  !    1  am  free! 

PAULUS. 

Will  ye  not  stay  her  ?    I  am  powerless ; 
Her  words  have  stricken  from  mine  arms  their  force. 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

She  hath  her  task  ;  strength  will  be  given  her. 

MIRIAM. 

Aye,  ye  say  true.     I  am  not  wholly  left ; 

And  like  a  morning  mist  from  gleaming  lakes, 

The  cloud  is  passing  from  my  'wilder'd  mind. 

Youth !  wert  thou  as  they  are,  ev'n  thus 

For  thee  would  I  risk  all.  —  If  there  be  hope 

Or  consolation  in  those  words,  take  thou 

One  last,  fond  blessing  with  them !  —  this,  at  least, 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  53 

Will  sure  be  pardon'd  me.     There  is  a  love 
That  innocence  may  feel  for  sinning  friends, 
A  love  made  up  of  holy  hopes,  and  prayers, 
And  tears  !  and,  Paulus,  ev'n  such  angel-love, 
Living  or  dying,  will  I  bear  to  thee  !  —  Farewell  ! 

[Exit. 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

Thou  too  must  hence  with  us  ! 

PAULUS. 

Not  yet  —  not  yet ! 

Let  me  but  watch  the  fluttering  of  her  robe ! 

Alas  !  its  last  white  gleam  is  faded  —  gone  — 
And  swallow'd  up  in  darkness,  like  my  hopes, 
My  happiness  — like  all  things  fair  or  bright, 
These  eyes  have  ever  lov'd  to  look  upon  ! 
Lead  where  ye  will.     The  clods  beneath  these  feet 
Have  scarce  less  life  or  consciousness  than  he 
Whose  foot  is  pressing  them,  with  a  dull  hope 
To  share  their  utter  senselessness  ere  long. 

[Exeunt. 


54  MIRIAM— A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 


SCENE   II. 

A  Hall  in  the  Palace  of  Piso.     Piso  and  Evphas. 

PISO. 

Why  !  thou  hast  trusted  in  thy  youth  and  bloom, 

As  if  the  eye  whose  lightnings  thou  hast  braved 

Were  woman's  !    Thou  hast  yet  to  learn,  fair  boy, 

The  mower  in  his  earnest  task  spares  not 

The  wild-flower  in  his  path.     It  moves  my  mirth 

That  with  such  hope  thou  shouldst  have  sought  my  face, 

Intruding  on  my  midnight  privacy, 

To  pour  thine  intercession  in  mine  ear. 

Tell  me,  I  pray,  didst  thou  in  sooth  believe 

Thy  boyish  eloquence  and  raven  curls 

Might  move  the  settled  purpose  of  my  soul  ? 

Or  is  thy  life  too  bitter  in  the  bud, 

That  thou  hast  ta'en  a  way  so  sure  and  prompt 

To  nip  its  blossoming  ? 

EUPHAS. 

I  know  not  which. 
But  if  I  had  a  hope,  and  it  prove  false, 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  55 

Life  were  the  sternest  penalty  thy  wrath 
CouldTIcf  my  spirit  bear. 

PISO. 

I  doubt  thee  much. 

When  the  young  blood  runs  bounding  through  the  veins. 
And  a  strong  thought  is  on  the  working  soul, 
And  death  goes  wandering  far  and  heeds  thee  not, 
'T  is  easy  then  to  scorn  thine  absent  foe. 
But  if  the  monster  turn  upon  thee  fierce, 
Whispering  a  sudden  summons  in  thine  ear, 
Checking  thy  youthful  pulse  with  icy  touch. 
Flinging  an  utter  darkness  on  thy  hopes, 
Boy  !  in  that  shudd'ring  hour  —  it  draweth  nigh  !  — 
I  shall  behold  thy  bright  cheek  blanch'd  with  fear. 
And  hear  thee,  in  thine  agony,  implore 
One  day  —  one  hour  of  that  same  precious  life 
Which  now  thou  hold'st  so  cheap.    How  thou  wilt  rue 
And  wonder  at  thine  own  presumption  strange, 
And  that  insane  and  idle  hope,  which  gave 
Thee,  in  thy  youth  and  folly,  to  my  hand. 
Ye  gods  !  it  was  most  strange  ! 

EUPHAS. 

To  thee  most  strange, 
Who  of  all  earthly  things  alone  dost  hold 


56  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

No  sympathy  with  aught  on  earth.     To  thee 
There  is  no  power  in  words  that  can  unfold 
The  steady  faith  and  deep,  absorbing  love 
That  brought  me  here.  —  I  have  not  yet  said  all. 

PISO. 

JNot  all  ?    Why,  that  is  stranger  still.     Methought 
Thou  hadst  run  through  each  supplicating  phrase 
Our  language  knows  :  and  in  good  truth,  although 
The  gods  themselves  are  scarce  more  wont  than  I 
To  hear  the  voice  of  pray'r  and  agony, 
Yet  will  I  own  mine  ear  hath  never  drunk 
Tones  and  entreaties  eloquent  as  thine. 
Thou  hast  said  much,  fair  lad,  and  said  it  well. 
And  said  it  all  —  in  vain.  —  Dost  hear  ? 

EUPHAS. 

I  do. 

PISO. 

Why  !  thou  art  wondrous  calm  ! 

EUPHAS. 

Thou  man  of  blood ! 
1  have  not  yet  said  all ! 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  57 

PISO. 

But  by  the  gods, 

Thou  hast !  for  I  will  hear  no  more  this  night. 
To-morrow,  if  I  'm  in  an  idle  mood, 
I  '11  hear  thee  —  on  the  cross  ! 

EUPHAS. 

I  read  thine  eye, 

That  does  not  honor  me  with  wrath  or  scorn, 
But  marks  me  with  a  proud,  cold  weariness. 
Yet  will  I  utter  —  what  shall  bid  that  eye 
Flash  fire ! 

PISO. 

Poor  fool !    I  marvel  I  have  spent 
Ev'n  thus  much  time  upon  thee.     Take  him  hence  ! 
Where  are  the  daring  slaves  who  marshall'd  thee  ? 

EUPHAS. 

Where  is  thy  son  ? 

PISO. 
My  son  !  —  my  son  ?  saidst  thou  ? 


58  M  I  R  I  A  31  —  A    D  R  A  M  A  T  I  C    POEM. 

EUPIIAS. 

Aye  !  — where  is  he  1  thine  only  son  ?  —  and  Paulib 
1  think,  the  name  he  nollij  bears. 

PISO. 

Gone  forth 

Upon  some  reckless  revel,  haply  ;  I  know  not. 
Seekest  thou  time,  that  with  such  idle  quest  — 


EUPIIAS. 


L  seek  thy  vulnerable  spot.     If  now 

I  fail ! — Know'st  thou  not  auuht — whither — or  how — 


PISO. 

I  tell  thee,  no  !    Read  me  thy  riddle,  hoy  ! 
The  night  wears  on,  and  busy  hours  are  mine 
Ere  to  my  couch 

EUPHAS. 

The  couch  unvisited 

By  sleep  this  night !    Oh,  were  it  not  for  those 
Whose  lives  hang  on  this  chance,  I  could  relent. 
How  can  I  aim  so  near  a  father's  heart  ? 


MIRIAM  —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  59 

PISO. 

This  tardiness  and  would-be  mystery 
Portend  a  mighty  tale.     Look  it  be  such. 
Why  !  what  knitted  brow  and  troubled  eye  ! 
Say  on,  and  hence  ! 

EUPHAS. 

Enough  !  —  Thou  hast  a  son. 
Whose  life  hangs  on  a  word  —  a  syllable  — 
Breath' d  from  thy  lips  ! 

PISO. 
Well !  excellent !  go  on. 

EUPHAS. 

He  is  a  hostage  'mid  an  armed  band, 
A  pledge  thou  canst  not  sport  with,  for  the  lives 
We  came  to  beg.     Give  me  my  father  back, 
My  father  and  his  friends  from  yonder  cells, 
And  thou  shall  have  thy  haughty  son  unscath'd 
By  Christian  swords  !    But  if  they  bleed 


PISO. 

Say  on  ; 


I  would  hear  all. 


60  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

EUPHAS. 

If  to  th'  appointed  spot 

They  come  not  all  —  age,  youth,  and  woman  —  all  — 
Ere  the  red  sun  shall  look  aslant  the  hills 
With  its  first  beam,  he  dies ! 

PISO. 

And  is  this  all  ? 

EUPHAS. 

Aye.    Now  have  I  said  much  —  and  well  —  and  not. 
Perchance,  in  vain ! 

PISO. 

Lad,  were  there  but  one  chance 
Thou  e'er  might'st  profit  by  the  kind  advice, 
I  would  exhort  thee,  when  again  thou  seek'st 
To  save  thy  life  by  trick  and  cunning  tale, 
Make  thou  thy  story  probable  !  —  Dost  hear  ? 

EUPHAS. 

How  !  dost  thou  doubt  ? 

PISO. 
I  should  as  soon  believe  thee. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  61 

If  thou  assertedst  that  the  ocean  waves 
Were  dashing  high  around  my  palace  gates ; 
Or  that  the  thousand  Christians  I  have  slain 
Were  seeking  me  along  the  silent  streets, 
Moaning  and  glimmering  in  their  phantom-shrouds, 

At  this  lone  hour  of  midnight. Thou  art  pale  : 

In  the  extremity  of  fear  hast  thou 
Devis'd  a  tale  so  wild  ? 

EUPHAS. 

I  may  be  pale  ; 

But  re-peruse  my  brow,  and  see  if  there 
Is  aught  that  tokens  fear  ! 

PISO. 

Boy !  there  is  that 

Within  thy  pensive  eye  I  cannot  meet ; 
I  have  beheld  a  face  so  like  to  thine. 
Else  had  our  parley  shorter  been.  —  Away  ! 
I  will  behold  — •  will  hear  thy  voice  no  more  ! 

EUPHAS. 

Forth  to  the  dungeon  must  I  go  ? 

PISO. 

Aye !  lad ; 
The  deepest  —  darkest ! 

F 


62  MIRIAM -A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

EUPHAS. 

So  it  be  but  that 

My  father  shareth,  I  care  not  how  dark. 
Darker  will  be  to-morrow's  noon  to  thee, 
Thou  childless  sire ! 

PISO. 

Can  it  be  true  ?    I  feel 
A  cold  and  sudden  shudd'ring  in  my  veins. 
Tell  me  once  more  —  I  know  't  is  mockery  — 
Yet  would  I  hear  thy  tale  again,  false  boy  ! 
My  son,  thou  say'st 

EUPHAS. 

Circled  with  Christian  swords. 
Stands  waiting  thy  behest !  for  those,  whose  friends 
This  night  have  fall'n  within  thy  fatal  grasp, 
Now  hold  thine  own  proud  darling  fast  in  bonds. 
Where  rescue  or  protecting  power  of  thine 
Cannot  avail  him  aught.     Revenge  thou  may'st. 
But  canst  not  save  him  —  but  by  sparing  those 
Whom  thou  didst  purpose  for  a  cruel  death. 

PISO. 
And  where  —  in  what  dark  nook 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  63 


EUPHAS. 

Nay,  tyrant !  but 
Thou  canst  not  dream  that  I  will  answer  thee. 


PISO. 


I  will  send  forth  my  soldiers  —  they  shall  search 

It  may  be  false  —  but  they  shall  overrun 
Palace  and  hut,  and  search  each  hiding-place 
In  all  this  mighty  city,  till  my  son 
Be  found ! 

EUPHAS. 

When  he  is  found,  that  son  will  be 

Knowest  thou  what  ?    Sunrise  the  hour  —  Remember. 

PISO. 

Now  by  the  great  god  Mars !  but  thou  shalt  die 
For  this,  be  thy  tale  false  or  true.     Till  now 
I  never  felt  these  firm  knees  tremble.  —  Speak  ! 
How  fell  my  noble  Paulus  in  the  gripe 
Of  yonder  rav'ning  wolves  ? 

EUPHAS. 

How  came  he  there  ? 
Alas  !  —  that  question  hath  a  dagger's  point. 


64  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Man  !  I  would  rather  die  than  answer  it ! 

PISO. 

But  thou  shalt  speak,  or  I  will  have  thy  bones 
Wrench'd  from  their  sockets. — Stripling  ! — Silent  still? 
Bethink  thee,  thou  art  young  and  delicate : 
Thy  tender  limbs  have  a  keen  sense  of  pain ! 

EUPHAS. 

1 11  dark  thoughts  am  I  lost  —  but  not  of  that ! 

PISO. 

Answer  me  !  rouse  thee  from  thy  trance  ;  thou  'It  find 
A  stern  reality  around  thee  soon. 

EUPHAS. 

It  is  a  thought  to  search  the  very  soul  ! 

And  yet — so  young — she  may  repent. List,  Piso ! 

It  is  a  short  but  melancholy  tale, 

And  if  my  heart  break  not  the  while,  in  brief 

Will  I  declare  how  fell  thy  haughty  son 

Into  the  power  of  Christian  foes.  —  He  sought 

I  have  a  sister  —  she  is  beautiful  — 
Touched  by  three  summers  more  than  I  have  seen 
Into  the  first  young  grace  of  womanhood  — 
Lovely,  yet  thoughtful. Oh,  my  God  !  it  comes 


MIRIAM  —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  65 

Upon  my  soul  too  heavily !  —  Proud  Roman  ! 
Art  thou  not  answer'd  ? 


PISO. 
I  am.     He  dies. 

EUPHAS. 
How  ! 

PISO. 

Ye  shall  all  die.     In  my  mighty  wrath 
I  have  no  words  —  no  frenzy  now  !    'T  is  deep, 
Too  deep  for  outward  show !  —  But  he  shall  die, 
The  base,  degenerate  boy  ! 

EUPHAS. 

Thou  speakest  now 
In  the  first  burst  of  fury. 

PISO. 

That  my  son 

Should  love  a  Christian  girl !    Foul  —  foul  disgrace  ! 
Fury  !  saidst  thou  ?    I  am  calm.     Look  on  me. 

EUPHAS. 
I  see  the  tiger  crouching  ere  he  springs. 


66  MIRIAM  —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

I  mark  the  livid  cheek  —  the  hloodshot  eye  — 
Hands  firmly  clench'd  and  swollen  veins — are  these 
Tokens  of  inward  calm  ? 

PISO. 

Now  am  I  free  ! 

My  son  hangs  not  upon  my  palsied  arm, 
Checking  the  half-dealt  blow  ! 

EUPHAS. 

Dost  thou  exult? 

Oh  Heaven  !  to  think  such  spirits  are  !    Wilt  thou, 
Piso,  indeed  forget 

PISO. 

Strange  error  thine 

C) 

To  tell  this  secret,  boy  !  —  I  lov'd  my  son, 
And  lov'd  nought  else  on  earth.     In  him  alone 
Center'd  the  wild,  blind  fondness  of  a  heart 
All  adamant,  except  for  him  !  and  thou  — 
Thou,  foolish  youth,  hast  made  me  hate  and  scorn 

Him  whom  my  pride  and  love Knowest  thou  not 

Thou  hast  but  sealed  thy  fate  ?    His  life  had  been 
More  precious  to  me  than  the  air  I  breathe ; 
And  cheerfully  I  would  have  yielded  up 
A  thousand  Christian  dogs  from  yonder  dens 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  67 

To  save  one  hair  upon  his  head.     But  now  — 

A  Christian  maid ! — Were  there  none  other  ?  —  Gods ! 

Shame  and  a  shameful  death  be  his  !  —  and  thine  ! 

EUPHAS. 

It  is  the  will  of  God.     My  hopes  burnt  dim 
Ev'n  from  the  first,  and  are  extinguish'd  now. 
The  thirst  of  blood  hath  rudely  chok'd  at  last 
The  one  affection  which  thy  dark  breast  knew, 
And  thou  art  man  no  more.     Let  me  but  die 
First  of  thy  victims 

PISO. 

Would  that  she  among  them 

Where  is  the  sorceress  ?    I  fain  would  see 

The  beauty  that  hath  witch'd  Rome's  noblest  youth. 

EUPHAS. 
Her's  is  a  face  thou  never  wilt  behold. 

PISO. 

I  will.  —  On  her  shall  fall  my  worst  revenge ; 

And  I  will  know  what  foul  and  magic  arts 

[Miriam  glides  in.     A.  pause. 
Beautiful  shadow  !  in  this  hour  of  wrath 
What  dost  thou  here  ?    In  life  thou  wert  too  meek, 


68  MIRIAM -A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Too  gentle  for  a  lover  stern  as  I. 

And  since  I  saw  thee  last,  my  days  have  been 

Deep  steep'd  in  sin  and  blood  !    What  seekest  thou  ? 

I  have  grown  old  in  strife,  and  hast  thou  come, 

With  thy  dark  eyes  and  their  soul-searching  glance. 

To  look  me  into  peace  ?  —  It  cannot  be. 

Go  back,  fair  spirit,  to  thine  own  dim  realms ! 

He  whose  young  love  thou  didst  reject  on  earth 

May  tremble  at  this  visitation  strange, 

But  never  can  know  peace  or  virtue  more ! 

Thou  wcrt  a  Christian,  and  a  Christian  dog 

Did  win  thy  precious  love.  —  I  have  good  cause 

To  hate  and  scorn  the  whole  detested  race ; 

And  till  I  meet  that  man,  whom  most  of  all 

My  soul  abhors,  will  I  go  on  and  slay  ! 

Fade,  vanish  — shadow  bright !  — In  vain  that  look  ! 

That  sweet,  sad  look  !  —  My  lot  is  cast  in  blood  ! 

MIRIAM. 

Oh,  say  not  so  ! 

PISO. 

The  voice  that  won  me  first ! 
Oh,  what  a  tide  of  recollections  rush 
Upon  my  drowning  soul !  —  my  own  wild  love  — 
Thy  scorn  —  the  long,  long  days  of  blood  and  guilt 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  69 

That  since  have  left  their  footprints  on  my  fate  !  — 
The  dark,  dark  nights  of  fever'd  agony, 
When,  'mid  the  strife  and  struggling  of  my  dreams, 
The  gods  sent  thee  at  times  to  hover  round, 
Bringing  the  mem'ry  of  those  peaceful  days 
When  I  beheld  thee  first !  —  But  never  yet 
Before  my  waking  eyes  hast  thou  appear'd 
Distinct  and  visible  as  now  !  —  Fair  Spirit ! 
What  wouldst  thou  have  ? 


MIRIAM. 

Oh,  man  of  guilt  and  woe ! 
Thine  own  dark  phantasies  are  busy  now, 
Lending  unearthly  seeming  to  a  thing 
Of  earth,  as  thou  art ! 

PISO 

How !    Art  thou  not  she  1 
I  know  that  face !    I  never  yet  beheld 
One  like  to  it  among  earth's  loveliest. 
Why  dost  thou  wear  that  semblance,  if  thou  art 
A  thing  of  mortal  mould  ?  —  Oh,  better  meet 
The  wailing  ghosts  of  those  whose  blood  doth  clog 
My  midnight  dreams,  than  that  half-pitying  eye ! 


70  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

MIRIAM. 

Thou  art  a  wretched  man !  and  I  do  feel 

Pity  ev'n  for  the  suff'ring  guilt  hath  brought. 

But  from  the  quiet  grave  I  have  not  come, 

Nor  from  the  shadowy  confines  of  the  world 

Where  spirits  dwell,  to  haunt  thy  midnight  hour. 

The  disembodied  should  be  passionless, 

And  wear  not  eyes  that  swim  in  earth-born  tears, 

As  mine  do  now ! — Look  up,  tliou  conscience-struck  ! 

PISO. 

Off!  off! She  touched  me  with  her  damp,  cold 

hand ! 

But  't  was  a  hand  of  flesh  and  blood  !  —  Away  !  — 
Come  ihou  not  near  me  till  I  study  thee. 

MIRIAM. 

Why  are  thine  eyes  so  fix'd  and  wild  ?  thy  lips 

Convuls'd  and  ghastly  white?    Thine  own  dark  sins, 

Vexing  thy  soul,  have  clad  me  in  a  form 

Thou  dar'st  not  look  upon  —  I  know  not  why. 

But  I  must  speak  to  thee.     'Mid  thy  remorse, 

And  the  unwonted  terrors  of  thy  soul, 

I  must  be  heard  —  for  God  hath  sent  me  here. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  71 

PISO. 

Who  —  who  hath  sent  thee  here  ? 

MIRIAM. 

The  Christian's  God, 

The  God  thou  knowest  not :  He  hath  given  me  strength, 
And  led  me  safely  through  the  broad  lone  streets, 
Ev'n  at  the  midnight  hour !    My  heart  sunk  not, 
My  noiseless  foot  paced  on  unfaltering 
Through  the  long  colonnades,  where  stood  aloft 
Pale  gods  and  goddesses  on  either  hand, 
Bending  their  sightless  eyes  on  me  !  hy  founts. 
Waking  with  ceaseless  plash  the  midnight  air  ! 
Through  moonlit  squares,  where  ever  and  anon 
Flash'd  from  some  dusky  nook  the  red  torchlight. 
Flung  on  my  path  by  passing  reveller. 
And  He  hath  brought  me  here  before  thy  face ; 
And  it  was  He  who  smote  thee  even  now 
With  a  strange,  nameless  fear. 

PISO. 

Girl !  name  it  not. 

I  deem'd  I  look'd  on  one,  whose  bright  young  face 
First  glanc'd  upon  me  'mid  the  shining  leaves 
Of  a  green  bower  in  sunny  Palestine, 


72  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

In  my  youth's  prime !    I  knew  the  dust, 

The  grave's  corroding  dust,  had  soiled 

That  spotless  brow  long  since.  —  A  shadow  fell 

Upon  the  soul  that  never  yet  knew  fear. 

But  it  is  past.     Earth  holds  not  what  I  dread ; 

And  what  the  gods  did  make  me,  am  I  now. 

What  seekest  thou  ? 

EUPHAS. 
Miriam  !  e;o  thou  hence. 

o 

Why  shouldst  thou  die  ? 

MIRIAM. 

Brother ! 

PISO. 

Ha  !  is  this  so  ? 

Now,  by  the  gods  !  —  Bar  —  bar  the  gates,  ye  slaves  ! 
If  they  escape  me  now  -     -  Why  this  is  good  ! 
I  had  not  dream' d  of  hap  so  glorious. 
She  that  beguiPd  my  son  !    His  sister ! 


MIRIAM. 

Peace ! 
Name  not  with  tongue  unhallow'd  love  like  ours. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  73 

PISO. 

Thou  art  her  image  —  and  the  mystery 
Confounds  my  purposes.     Take  other  form, 
Foul  sorceress,  and  I  will  baffle  thee ! 

MIRIAM. 

I  have  no  other  form  than  this  God  gave ; 
And  he  already  hath  stretch' d  forth  his  hand 
And.. touch' d  it  for  the  grave. 

PISO. 

It  is  most  strange. 

Is  not  the  air  around  her  full  of  spells  ? 
Give  me  the  son  thou  hast  seduc'd ! 

MIRIAM. 

Hear,  Piso ! 

Thy  son  hath  seen  me  —  lov'd  me  —  and  hath  won 
A  heart  too  prone  to  worship  noble  things, 
Although  of  earth  —  and  he,  alas  !  was  earth's  ! 
I  strove  —  I  pray'd  —  in  vain  !    In  all  things  else 
I  might  have  stirr'd  his  soul's  best  purposes. 
But  for  the  pure  and  cheering  faith  of  Christ, 
There  was  no  entrance  in  that  iron  soul. 
And  I Amid  such  hopes,  despair  arose, 


74  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

And  laid  a  with'ring  hand  upon  my  heart. 

I  feel  it  yet !  —  We  parted  !    Aye  —  this  night 

We  met  to  meet  no  more. 

EUPHAS. 

Sister !  my  tears 

They  choke  my  words else 

MIRIAM. 

Euphas,  thou  wert  wroth 

When  there  was  little  cause  ;  —  I  lov'd  thee  more. 
Thy  very  frowns  in  such  a  holy  cause 
Were  beautiful.     The  scorn  of  virtuous  youth. 
Looking  on  fancied  sin,  is  noble. 

PISO. 

Maid ! 

Hath  then  my  son  withstood  thy  witchery. 
And  on  this  ground  ye  parted  ? 

MIRIAM. 

It  is  so. 

Alas,  that  I  rejoice  to  tell  it  thee. 

PISO. 

JNay,  well  thou  may'st,  for  it  hath  wrought  his  pardon. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  75 

That  he  had  lov'd  thee  would  have  been  a  sin 

Too  full  of  degradation  —  infamy, 

Had  not  these  cold  and  aged  eyes  themselves 

Beheld  thee  in  thy  loveliness  !    And  yet,  bold  girl ! 

Think  not  thy  Jewish  beauty  is  the  spell 

That  works  on  one  grown  old  in  deeds  of  blood. 

I  have  look'd  calmly  on  when  eyes  as  bright 

Were  drown'd  in  tears  of  bitter  agony, 

When  forms  as  full  of  grace  —  and  pride,  perchance  — 

Were  writhing  in  the  sharpness  of  their  pain, 

And  cheeks  as  fair  were  mangled 

EUPHAS. 

Tyrant!  cease. 

Wert  thou  a  fiend,  such  brutal  boasts  as  these 
Were  not  for  ears  like  hers  ! 

MIRIAM. 

I  tremble  not. 

He  spake  of  pardon  for  his  guiltless  son, 
And  that  includeth  life  for  those  I  love. 
What  need  I  more  ? 

EUPHAS. 

Let  us  go  hence  at  once. 
Bid  thou  thy  myrmidons  unbar  the  gates, 


76  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

That  shut  our  friends  from  light  and  air. 

PISO. 

Not  yet, 

My  haughty  boy,  for  we  have  much  to  say, 
Ere  you  two  pretty  birds  go  free.     Chafe  not ! 
Ye  are  caged  close,  and  can  but  flutter  here 

Till  I  am  satisfied. 

i 

MIRIAM. 

How  !  hast  thou  chang'd 

PISO. 

IVay  —  but  I  must  detain  ye  till  I  ask 

MIRIAM. 

Detain  us  if  thou  wilt  —  But  look  ! 

PISO. 

At  what  ? 

MIRIAM. 

There,  through  yon  western  arch  !  the  moon  sinks  low 
The  mists  already  tinge  her  orb  with  blood. 
Methinks  I  feel  the  breeze  of  morn  ev'n  now. 
Know'st  thou  the  hour  ? 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  77 

PISO. 

I  do  —  but  one  thing  more 
I  fain  would  know ;  for  after  this  wild  night 
Let  me  no  more  behold  you.     Why  didst  thou, 
Bold,  dark-hair' d  boy,  wear  in  those  pleading  eyes, 
When  thou  didst  name  thy  boon,  an  earnest  look 
That  fell  familiar  on  my  soul  ?     And  thou, 
The  lofty,  calm,  and  oh  !  most  beautiful ! 
Why  are  not  only  that  soul-searching  glance, 
But  ev'n  thy  features  and  thy  silver  voice 
So  like  to  her's  I  lov'd  long  years  ago, 
Beneath  Judea's  palms  ?     Whence  do  ye  come  ? 

MIRIAM. 

For  me,  I  bear  my  own  dear  mother's  brow  ; 
Her  eye,  her  form,  her  very  voice  are  mine. 
So,  in  his  tears,  my  father  oft  hath  said. 
We  liv'd  beneath  Judea's  shady  palms, 
Until  that  saintlike  mother  faded  —  drooped  — 
And  died.     Then  hither  came  we  o'er  the  waves, 
And  till  this  night  have  worshipped  faithfully 
The  One,  True,  Living  God,  in  secret  peace. 

PISO. 
Thou  art  her  child  !     I  could  not  harm  thee  now. 


78  MIRIAM  —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Oh  wonderful  !  that  things  so  Ion*  foro-ot,  — 

O  O  C5        ' 

A  love  I  thought  so  crush'd  and  trodden  down 

Ev'n  by  the  iron  tread  of  passions  wild  — 

Ambition  —  pride  —  and  worst  of  all,  revenge  — 

Revenge  that  hath  shed  seas  of  Christian  blood  !  — 

To  think  this  heart  was  once  so  waxen  soft, 

And  then  congeal'd  so  hard,  that  nought  of  all 

Which  hath  been  since  could  ever  have  the  pow'r 

To  wear  away  the  image  of  that  girl  — 

That  fair,  young,  Christian  girl !  —  'T  was  a  wild  love  ! 

But  I  was  young,  a  soldier  in  strange  lands, 

And  she,  in  very  gentleness,  said  nay 

So  timidly,  I  hoped  —  until,  ye  gods  ! 

She  lov'd  another  1  —  Yet  I  slew  him  not ! 

I  fled  !  —  Oh,  had  I  met  him  since  ! 


The  hours  wear  on. 


EUPHAS. 

Come,  sister ! 
PISO. 


Ye  shall  go  forth  in  joy, 

And  take  with  you  yon  pris'ners.     Send  my  son, 
Him  whom  she  did  not  bear  —  home  to  these  arms, 
And  go  ye  out  of  Rome  with  all  your  train. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  79 

I  will  shed  blood  no  more  ;  for  I  have  known 

What  sort  of  peace  deep-glutted  vengeance  brings. 

My  son  is  brave,  but  of  a  gentler  mind 

Than  I  have  been.     His  eyes  shall  never  more 

Be  grieved  with  sight  of  sinless  blood  pour'd  forth 

From  tortur'd  veins.     Go  forth,  ye  gentle  two  ! 

Children  of  her  who  might  perhaps  have  pour'd 

Her  own  meek  spirit  o'er  my  nature  stern, 

Since  the  bare  image  of  her  buried  charms, 

Soft  gleaming  from  your  youthful  brows,  hath  pow'r 

To  stir  my  spirit  thus  !     But  go  ye  forth  ! 

Ye  leave  an  alter'd  and  a  milder  man 

Than  him  ye  sought.     Tell  Paulus  this, 

To  quicken  his  young  steps. 

MIRIAM. 

Now  may  the  peace 

That  follows  just  and  worthy  deeds,  be  thine ! 
And  may  deep  truths  be  born,  'mid  thy  remorse, 
In  the  recesses  of  thy  soul,  to  make 
That  soul  ev'n  yet  a  shrine  of  holiness. 

EUPHAS. 

Piso  !  how  shall  we  pass  yon  steel-clad  men, 
Keeping  stern  vigil  round  the  dungeon  gate? 


80  MIRIAM  —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

P1SO. 

Take  ye  my  well-known  ring  —  and  here — the  list — 
Aye,  this  is  it,  methinks :  show  these  —  Great  gods ! 

EUPHAS. 

What  is  there  on  yon  scroll  which  shakes  him  thus  ? 

MIRIAM. 

A  name,  at  which  he  points  with  stifF'ning  hand, 

And  eyeballs  full  of  wrath  !  —  Alas  !  alas  ! 

I  guess  too  well.  —  My  brother,  droop  thou  not. 

PISO. 

Your  father,  did  ye  say  ?     Was  it  his  life 
Ye  came  to  beg  ? 

MIRIAM. 

His  life ;  but  not  alone 
The  life  so  dear  to  us ;  for  he  hath  friends 
Sharing  his  fetters  and  his  final  doom. 

PISO. 
Little  reck  I  of  them.     Tell  me  his  name  ! 

[A  pause. 
Speak,  boy !  or  I  will  tear  thee  piecemeal ! 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  81 

MIRIAM. 

Stay! 

Stern  son  of  violence !  the  name  thou  askest 
Is  —  is  —  Thraseno  ! 

PISO. 

Well  I  knew  it,  girl ! 

Now,  by  the  gods,  had  I  not  been  entranc'd, 
I  sooner  had  conjectur'd  this.  —  Foul  name  ! 
Thus  do  I  tear  thee  out  —  and  even  thus 
Rend  with  my  teeth.  —  Oh  rage  !  she  wedded  him, 
And  ever  since  that  hated  name  hath  been 

The  voice  of  serpents  in  mine  ear !  —  But  now 

Why  go  ye  not  ?  Here  is  your  list !  and  all, 
Aye,  every  one  whose  name  is  here  set  down, 
Will  my  good  guards  forthwith  release  you  ! 

MIRIAM. 

Piso  ! 

In  mercy  mock  us  not !  children  of  her 
Whom  thou  didst  love 

PISO. 

Aye,  maid  !  but  ye  are  his 
Whom  I  do  hate  !    That  chord  is  broken  now  — 


82 


MIRIAM  —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 


Its  music  hushed  !    Is  she  not  in  her  grave,  — 
And  he  —  within  my  grasp  ? 


Thy  penitence  ? 


MIRIAM. 

Where  is  thy  peace  — 
PISO. 


Fled  all  —  a  moon-beam  brief 
Upon  a  stormy  sea.     That  magic  name 
Hath  rous'd  the  wild,  loud  winds  again. — Begone! 
Save  whom  ye  may. 


MIRIAM. 


Piso  !  I  go  not  hence 
Until  my  father's  name  be  on  this  scroll. 


PISO. 


Take  root,  then,  where  thou  art !  for  by  dark  Styx 
I  swear 


MIRIAM. 


Nay,  swear  thou  not,  till  I  am  heard. 
Hast  thou  forgot  thy  son  ? 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  83 

PISO. 

No !  let  him  die, 

So  that  I  have  my  long-deferred  revenge ! 
Thy  lip  grows  pale  !  —  Art  thou  not  answer' d  now  ? 

MIRIAM. 

Deep  horror  falls  upon  me  !    Can  it  be 
Such  demon  spirits  dwell  on  earth  ? 

PISO. 

Bold  maiden ! 
While  thou  art  safe,  go  hence ;  for  in  his  might 


-> 


The  tiger  wakes  within  me  ! 


MIRIAM. 

Be  it  so. 

He  can  but  rend  me  where  I  stand.     And  here, 
Living  or  dying,  will  I  raise  my  voice 
In  a  firm  hope !    The  God  that  brought  me  here 
Is  round  me  in  the  silent  air.     On  me 
Falleth  the  influence  of  an  unseen  Eye  ! 
And  in  the  strength  of  secret,  earnest  pray'r, 
This  awful  consciousness  doth  nerve  my  frame. 
Thou  man  of  evil  and  ungoverned  soul ! 
My  father  thou  mayst  slay !    Flames  will  not  fall 


84  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

From  heaven  to  scorch  and  wither  thee !    The  earth 
Will  gape  not  underneath  thy  feet !  and  peace, 
Mock,  hollow,  seeming  peace,  may  shadow  still 
Thy  home  and  hearth  !    But  deep  within  thyjyeast 
A  fierce,  consuming  fire  shall  ever  dwell. 
Each  night  shall  ope  a  gulf  of  horrid  dreams 
To  swallow  up  thy  soul.     The  livelong  day 
That  soul  shall  yearn  for  peace  and  quietness, 
As  the  hart  panteth  for  the  water  brooks, 
And  know  that  even  in  death  —  is  no  repose ! 
And  this  shall  he  thy  life !     Then  a  dark  hour 
Will  surely  come 

PISO. 

Maiden,  be  warned  !    All  this 
I  know.     It  moves  me  not. 

MIRIAM. 

Nay,  one  thing  more 

Thou  knowest  not.     There  is  on  all  this  earth  — 
Full  as  it  is  of  young  and  gentle  hearts  — 
One  man  alone  that  loves  a  wretch  like  thee ; 
And  he,  thou  say'st,  must  die !     All  other  eyes 
Do  greet  thee  with  a  cold  or  wrathful  look, 
Or,  in  the  baseness  of  their  fear,  shun  thine ; 
And  he  whose  loving  glance  alone  spake  peace. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  85 

Thou  say'st  must  die  in  youth  !  Thou  know'st  not  yet 

The  deep  and  bitter  sense  of  loneliness, 

The  throes  and  achings  of  a  childless  heart. 

Which  yet  will  all  be  thine !    Thou  know'st  not  yet 

What  't  is  to  wander  'mid  thy  spacious  halls, 

And  find  them  desolate  !  wildly  to  start 

From  thy  deep  musings  at  the  distant  sound 

Of  voice  or  step  like  his,  and  sink  back  sick  — 

Aye  !  sick  at  heart  —  with  dark  remembrances  ! 

To  dream  thou  seest  him  as  in  years  gone  by, 

When  in  his  bright  and  joyous  infancy, 

His  laughing  eyes  amid  thick  curls  sought  thine, 

And  his  soft  arms  were  twin'd  around  thy  neck, 

And  his  twin  rosebud  lips  just  lisp'd  thy  name  — 

Yet  feel  in  agony  't  is  but  a  dream ! 

Thou  know'st  not  yet  what  't  is  to  lead  the  van 

Of  armies  hurrying  on  to  victory, 

Yet,  in  the  pomp  and  glory  of  that  hour, 

Sadly  to  miss  the  well-known  snowy  plume, 

Whereon  thine  eyes  were  ever  proudly  fix'd 

In  battle-field !  —  to  sit,  at  midnight  deep, 

Alone  within  thy  tent  —  all  shuddering  — 

When,  as  the  curtain'd  door  lets  in  the  breeze, 

Thy  fancy  conjures  up  the  gleaming  arms 

And  bright  young  hero-face  of  him  who  once 

Had  been  most  welcome  there  !  —  and  worst  of  all 


86  MIRIAM  —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

PISO. 

It  is  enough  !    The  gift  of  prophecy 
[s  on  thee.  maid  !    A  pow'r  that  is  not  thine 
Looks  out  from  that  dilated,  awful  form  — 
Those  eyes  deep  flashing  with  unearthly  light  — 
And  stills  my  soul.  —  My  Paulus  must  not  die ! 
And  yet  —  to  give  up  thus  the  boon  ! 

MIRIAM. 

What  boon 

A  boon  of  blood?  — To  him,  the  good  old  man, 
Death  is  not  terrible,  but  only  seems 
A  dark,  short  passage  to  a  land  of  light, 
Where,  'mid  high  ecstasy,  he  shall  behold 
Th'  unshrouded  glories  of  his  Maker's  face, 
And  learn  all  mysteries,  and  gaze  at  last 
Upon  th'  ascended  Prince,  and  never  more 
Know  grief  or  pain,  or  part  from  those  he  loves  I 
Yet  will  his  blood  cry  loudly  from  the  dust, 
And  bring  deep  vengeance  on  his  murderer  ! 

PISO. 

My  Paulus  must  not  die  !  —  Let  me  revolve 

Maiden  !  thy  words  have  sunk  into  my  soul ; 
Yet  would  I  ponder  ere  I  thus  lay  down 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  87 

A  purpose  cherish'd  in  my  inmost  heart, 

That  which  hath  been  my  dream  by  night,  —  by  day 

My  life's  sole  aim.     Have  I  not  deeply  sworn, 

Long  years  ere  thou  wert  born,  that  should  the  gods 

E'er  give  him  to  my  rage  —  and  yet  I  pause  ?  — 

Shall  Christian  vipers  sting  mine  only  son, 

And  I  not  crush  them  into  nothingness  ? 

Am  I  so  pinion' d,  vain,  and  powerless  ? 

Work,  busy  brain  !  thy  cunning  must  not  fail. 

[Retires. 

EUPHAS. 

My  sister !  thou  art  spent. 

MIRIAM. 

Not  yet ;  although 

The  strange  excitement  of  my  spirit  dies, 
And  stern  suspense  is  fretting  fast  away 
The  ties  which  hold  that  spirit  from  its  home, 
Yet  shall  I  linger  till  my  task  be  done. 
Look !  on  that  moody  brow  what  dost  thou  read  ? 

EUPHAS. 

Alas  !  no  hope.     And  yet  methinks  a  smile 
Of  inward  exultation  sudden  gleams 
Athwart  his  features,  like  a  distant  flash 


88  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Of  lurid  lightning  'mid  thick  clouds.     My  sister ! 
I  like  it  not. 


MIRIAM. 

He  marks  us  watching  him, 
And  with  a  bright'ning  aspect  draweth  nigh. 

PISO. 

Children  !  go  hence  in  peace,  for  I  have  held 

Communion  with  my  own  fierce,  warring  thoughts, 

And  there  is  something  there  which  pleads  your  cause. 

I  cannot  live  on  this  dark  earth  alone ; 

I  cannot  die,  if  burden'd  with  his  blood ; 

I  cannot  give  my  brave  and  only  son 

To  buy  the  luxury  of  my  revenge  ! 

So  ye  have  won  your  boon,  and  I  must  stake 

My  Paulus  too  on  your  fidelity  ! 

Ye  might  deceive  me ;  but  I  read  you  well 

Two  young,  high-minded  souls ;  —  to  you  I  trust 

All  that  I  hold  most  dear.     In  peace  and  hope 

Go  hence,  and  send  him  home. 

MIRIAM. 

Go  hence !  and  how  ? 
Leaving  behind  us  those  for  whom  we  came  ? 


MIRIAM  — A   DRAMATIC    POEM.  89 

PISO. 

Fear  not,  for  they  shall  follow  thee.     This  hour, 
This  instant,  will  I  take  myself  the  way 
That  leads  down  to  their  dwellings  dark  and  drear, 
And  set  them  free. 

MIRIAM. 

And  we  will  cling  to  thee, 
Blessing  the  hand  which  breaks  a  father's  chains, 
And  thou  shalt  see  our  meeting,  and  rejoice 
To  think  that  thou  hast  caused  such  happiness. 

PISO. 

Nay,  maiden  !  dost  forget  ?    My  Paulus  stands 

In  jeopardy,  and  ye  may  be  too  late ! 

Seek  ye  my  son,  while  I  release  your  friends. 

EUPHAS. 

Piso !  we  cannot  sound  the  depths  of  guile 
Within  that  cold  and  crafty  breast ;  —  but  woe  ! 
If  we  should  trust,  and  be  deceiv'd ! 

PISO. 

How  !  do  ye  wrong  me  thus  ?     Can  such  distrust 
Spring  up  in  youthful  hearts  ? 


90  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 


MIRIAM. 

We  have  good  cause 

To  doubt  a  Pagan,  when  he  talks  of  peace 
Or  mercy  for  his  Christian  foes.     And  yet 

PISO. 

Ye  will  go  forth  —  for  ye  can  do  nought  else. 
It  is  your  destiny. 

MIRIAM. 

We  will  not  dream 

There  can  be  perfidy  so  base.     We  trust, 
And  by  the  confidence  of  innocence 
Will  we  disarm  thy  wrath. 

EUPHAS. 

Nay,  sister,  more. 

He  cannot  mock  us  now,  for  we  still  hold 
Our  pledge  until  his  promise  be  redeemed. 

PISO. 

Then  go.     If  harm  betide  my  son 1  see 

A  dull  grey  light  along  the  east !  —  Begone  ! 


MIRIAM  —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  91 

MIRIAM. 

Swear  to  us  first 

PISO. 

What  would  ye  have  ?     I  swear, 
Both  by  my  gods  and  by  the  sacred  Styx, 
And  by  the  precious  blood  of  that  one  son, 
That  I  will  take  your  father  and  his  friends 
From  yonder  cells,  and  send  them  where  ye  list,  / 
Before  yon  stars  grow  dim  !    Is  it  enough  ? 

MIRIAM. 

Alone  too  must  they  come. 

PISO. 

Aye,  girl,  alone. 

MIRIAM. 

And  tell  them  they  must  seek  that  lonely  spot 
Where  we  all  met  three  nights  ago. 

PISO. 

I  will. 

Aught  more  ? 


92  MIRIAM  —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

MIRIAM. 

No,  nought.     And  now,  when  we  behold 
The  glad  procession  drawing  nigh,  with  joy 
Will  we  release  brave  Paulus  from  our  thrall, 
And  send  him  back  to  comfort  thine  old  age. 
And  he  will  shield  us  from  all  other  harm, 
While  we  make  haste  to  quit  this  bloody  land, 
Some,  for  a  calmer  home  on  earth  —  and  one, 
For  yonder  skies ! 

PISO. 

Speed  hence  !  watch  o'er  my  son, 
And  by  tli'  appointed  hour  ev'n  yet  your  friends 
Shall  be  with  you.     Remember,  ye  are  bound 
To  loose  him  soon  as  ye  descry  their  train ; 
And  bid  him  borrow  wings  to  fly  and  ease 
A  heart  that  hath  been  rack'd  for  him  this  night, 
A  heart  that  can  be  touch'd  through  him  alone. 

EUPHAS. 

Let  us  depart,  though  fear  and  doubt  still  brood 
Upon  our  souls. 

MIRIAM. 

Euphas  1  we  will  not  leave 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  93 

Such  words  to  rankle  in  a  soften' d  heart. 
Piso !  the  child  of  her  whom  thou  once  lov'd 
Leaves  thee  a  blessing  for  the  kindly  hope 
Thy  words  have  given.     Thine  be  a  long  old  age 
Of  calm  and  penitence  —  stayed  by  the  arm 
Of  him  whom  I  shall  see  but  once  —  once  more  ! 

Farewell !    I  yield Euphas !  uphold  my  steps. 

This  palace  shall  be  his  abode,  when  I 

Am  silent  in  my  grave  !    Will  he  forget 

That  there  was  once  a  Miriam  ?  —  Lead  forth  ; 

The  air  will  give  me  strength ;  and  we  will  thank 

Him  who  hath  bid  a  gladsome  light  shine  in 

On  hearts  that  were  a  chaos  of  despair. 

My  father  saved  ! 

PISO. 

And  I  may  be  deceiv'd  ! 
Yet  I  do  trust  you.  —  Haste !  it  is  the  dawn, 
Gleaming  through  yon  arcade,  that  bids  your  cheeks 
Look  pale,  and  dims  my  tapers  thus.     Depart :  — 
If  ye  should  be  too  late,  earth  hath  no  cave 
To  hide  you  from  my  wrath  ! 

[Exeunt. 


94  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM 


SCENE    III. 

A  rising  Ground  in  a  deserted  Garden,  near  the  City 
Walls.     Paulus,  and  Christians  keeping  guard. 

PAULUS. 

I  have  gaz'd  upward  on  yon  twinkling  gems 
Until  my  eyes  grew  dim ;  and  then  have  turn'd 
To  look  upon  the  starlit  face  of  things, 
Obscure,  yet  beautiful,  and  watched  the  moon 
Redd'ning  'mid  earthborn  mists,  and  verging  fast 
To  yonder  hilly  west,  each  in  its  turn,— 
Hoping  the  outward  calm  of  things  so  fair 
Might  sink,  as  erst,  into  a  troubled  breast, 
And  breathe  their  own  deep  quiet  o'er  my  soul. 
Such  things  have  been  —but  not  for  hours  like  these, 
My  brow  is  wet  with  dew  — and  yet  burns  on  ! 
My  eye  drinks  in  a  placid  scene  — yet  fills, 
Fills  to  the  brim  with  silent,  blinding  tears ! 
And  my  heart  beats  against  my  aching  breast 
With  throbs  of  agony  !  —  My  Miriam  ! 
Thou  in  thine  innocence  wilt  die  I  —  aye,  die 
By  a  most  cruel  death  !  and  I  am  here, 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  95 

Bound  in  a  strange  and  vile  captivity ! 

JT  was  the  sole  hope  —  and  now  I  feel,  't  was  vain  1 

I  have  no  power  to  thrust  the  image  stern 

Out  of  my  soul  —  thee,  trembling,  cold,  and  pale, 

Bowing  thy  gentle  head  with  murmur'd  pray'rs 

Beneath  rough  hands  that  bind  thee  to  the  cross. 

Ye  gods  !  the  rest — the  rest !  — let  me  go  mad, 

Ye  pitying  gods,  and  so  escape  the  worst, 

Knowledge  of  that  I  cannot  see,  yet  know. 

And  if,  with  strength  by  thrilling  horror  giv'n, 

I  call  my  wandering  fancy  home,  and  chain 

Thought  to  the  present What  were  death's  worst 

pangs, 

Could  I  but  meet  him  in  the  battle-field, 
Waving  on  high  my  own  red-flashing  sword, 
Meeting  my  death-blow  in  the  hottest  strife, 
Dying  with  shouts  of  victory  in  mine  ears, 
Frowns  on  my  brow,  proud  smiles  upon  my  lips  ? 
Alas  !  the  death  of  brutes  —  vain  struggles,  groans, 
And  butchery,  await  me  here  !  — 

Ye  stars ! 

I  watch  you  in  your  silent  march  !    I  mark 
How  one  by  one  ye  kiss  yon  shadowy  hills, 
And  steal  into  the  chambers  of  the  west, 
Sinking  for  ever  from  my  eyes  !  —  Farewell ! 
I  shall  not  see  you  rise  !  —  A  few  brief  hours 


96  MIRIAM-A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Ye,  in  your  tranquil  beauty,  shall  look  down 
Once  more  upon  the  spot  where  now  I  stand, 
And  there  behold  me  not.     But  ye  shall  see 
Token  of  bloody  deed— the  pure  turf  stain'd  — 
The  scabbard  haply  cast  in  haste  away- 
And  boughs  strown  rudely  o'er  the  darkest  spot 
That  tells  the  foul,  foul  tale  of  violence  ! 
And  what  of  this  ?  or  why,  at  such  an  hour, 
Revel  my  thoughts  in  idle  circumstance, 
Availing  nought  ?  —  I  know  not  —  I  hold  not 
The  clews  that  guide  my  spirit's  wanderings  ; 
And  when  they  list,  wild,  dark  imaginings 
Arise  unbidden !  — 

How  !  ye  do  grow  dim, 
Fair  stars !    The  breeze  that  fans  my  cheek 
Freshens  with  morn  !  and  yonder  glowing  moon 
Rests  her  broad  rim  upon  the  distant  hills, 
And  I  descry  a  cypress,  tall  and  dark, 
Drawn  with  its  spreading  boughs  against  her  disk. 
My  hours  ebb  low !  and  I  will  watch  no  more 
The  heavens  and  earth  with  dim  and  aching  eyes. 
There  is  no  calm  within  —  and  that  without 
Makes  but  a  broken  image  on  my  soul  — 
A  faithful  mirror  once  of  all  things  fair ! 

[Sits  down  on  a  rock  and  hides  Ms  face  with  his 
hands.] 

[A  long  pause. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  97 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

Friends  !  by  which  path  think  ye  they  will  approach  ? 

SECOND  CHRISTIAN. 

By  this.     We  shall  descry  them  from  afar, 
Threading  the  trees  that  fringe  the  river's  bank. 

PAULUS. 

I  had  forgotten  my  stern  guards  —  until 
Their  hollow  voices  woke  me  from  vain  dreams  — 
Vain  dreams  of  other  days  !  —  Ye  gods,  how  light ! 
The  sky  is  full  of  light !  and  golden  clouds 
Are  floating  softly  in  the  crimson  east  — 
Fit  homes  for  those  pure,  bright-wing'd,  angel  forms 
Which,  Miriam  says,  do  serve  her  God  in  heav'n  ! 
I  hear  the  gentle  stir  of  waking  birds 
Among  the  boughs  that  rustle  o'er  my  head ; 
And,  motionless  as  rocks,  I  dimly  see 
The  forms  of  men  beneath  the  shadowing  trees, 
Leaning  upon  their  swords  —  keeping  stern  guard 
O'er  one  poor  unarm'd  wretch  !  —  Oh,  why  have  I 
No  weapon  in  extremity  like  this  ? 

[A  pause. 

What  was  that  soft,  sweet  note  ?    The  prelude  faint 
To  the  full  matin  concert  of  dad  hearts 


98  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Joying  to  see  the  morn  !  —  Aye,  there  thou  go'st, 

Up  to  the  skies,  fair  bird !  and  cleaving  swift 

The  balmy  air  with  soft  and  busy  wing, 

Thou  pourest  forth  thy  soul  in  melody ! 

I  envy  thee  !  —  though  I  almost  forget 

What  'tis  that  vexes  me  while  thus  I  watch 

Thine  upward  flight !    But  thou  art  gone  —  and  I  — 

I  am  on  earth,  dark  earth  —  and  have  no  wings 

To  bear  me  up  to  yonder  happy  realms  ! 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

Seest  thou  aught  ? 

SECOND  CHRISTIAN. 

Nought  but  the  willow  boughs, 
Waving  and  whispering  in  the  rising  breeze. 

PAULUS. 

Ye  watch  in  vain.     They  will  not,  cannot  come ! 
My  own  wild  hope  hath  fled  ;  my  heart  is  sick. 
I  hear  chains  rattling  on  their  youthful  limbs ; 
I  see  them  gasping  'mid  the  dungeon  damps, 
Clos'd  in  with  dark  strong  walls !  They  cannot  come  ! 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

The  hour  draws  nigh. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  99 


PAULUS. 

Aye,  on  the  river's  face 
Vanish  the  dull  red  specks,  that  all  night  long 
Glimmer'd,  in  faint  reflection  of  the  lamps 
That  lit  the  student's  task,  the  sick  man's  couch. 
Life  wakes  throughout  the  city.  —  Rome,  my  home  ! 
How  beautiful  art  thou  !  —  thus  stealing  forth 
From  the  deep  veiling  darkness  of  the  night,  — 
A  wilderness  of  gardens,  palaces, 
And  stately  fanes  !  —  I  cannot  see  the  roof, 
The  one  proud  roof  I  seek ! 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

Pagan,  I  know 
Thou  fear'st  not  death.     Art  thou  prepared  to  die ! 

PAULUS. 

Aye,  any  death,  save  that  thou  purposest. 
Had  I  a  sword 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

Hast  thou  no  need  of  pray'r  ? 

PAULUS. 
Of  pray'r  ?    Why  should  I  pray  ?    Have  I  not  serv'd 


100  MIRIAM -A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Th'  ungrateful  gods  too  faithfully  ?    Alas ! 
I  know  not  what  I  say  !  —  Trouble  me  not, 
I  do  conjure  thee,  Christian !  —  Is  't  the  hour  ? 
A  mist  is  on  mine  eyes. 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

Not  yet.     There 's  time 

PAULUS. 

0  god  of  day  !  why  are  thy  chariot  wheels 

So  slow  ?    Would  that  thy  earliest  beam  had  pow'r 

To  strike  me  into  ashes !    Such  a  death 

Would  have  no  horrors  for  a  Roman  youth. 

But  in  cold  blood Christian  !  what  seest  thou  ? 

SECOND   CHRISTIAN. 

A  wreath  of  mist  that  sails  along  the  stream. 

PAULUS. 

1  will  be  patient.     Could  I  think  of  aught,  — 

No  matter  what  —  save  her,  and  this  vile  death  — 
Such  death  as  cowards  die  !  —  Could  I  but  pierce, 
Were  it  but  with  one  brief  and  shudd'ring  glance, 
The  cloudy  curtain  hanging  o'er  the  grave !  — 
Oh  !  new,  and  strange,  and  awful,  are  the  thoughts, 
Dim  forming  in  this  whirling  brain  !    Her  words 


MIRIAM  — A   DRAMATIC    POEM.  101 

Come  thrilling  back  upon  my  soul  with  might 
Most  like  the  might  of  solemn  truth,  that  wars 
With  blind  and  steadfast  prejudice  !  —  Ha !  look  ! 
Two  forms  come  gliding  yonder  'mid  the  trees ! 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

They  come  !  —  What  may  this  mean  ? 

PAULUS. 

Alas !  —  alone  ! 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

With  weary  steps  and  slow  the  pair  ascend 
The  hill  of  blood  —  for  such  this  spot  must  be ! 
They  are  indeed  alone !  and  grief,  methinks, 
Is  in  their  steps  ! 

PAULUS. 

She  droops  !  their  pray'r  was  vain ; 
And  my  stern  father  hath  forgotten  all 
That  gave  his  bosom  aught  of  human  touch. 
His  hand  hath  sign'd  my  early  doom  !  —  Ye  gods ! 
Bear  witness  how  I  bless  that  bloody  fate, 
Since  on  the  heads  of  yonder  sinless  pair 
My  father's  hand  hath  wrought  no  cruel  deed  ! 


102  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

Their  safety  doth  amaze  me. 

PAULUS. 

Nay,  the  gods 

Are  sometimes  touched  by  rarest  innocence, 
And  do  by  miracle  melt  iron  hearts. 
Slowly  they  mount  —  Ha  !  hidden  by  thick  boughs — 
Christian  !    I  do  implore  thee  —  do  the  deed ! 
Spare  those  mild  youthful  eyes  the  sight  of  blood, 
Forth  following  the  dagger's  point !    Be  quick, 
And  so  be  merciful ! 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

A  deed  so  rash 

Would  bring  down  shame  upon  these  silver  hairs. 
The  sun  hath  not  yet  ris'n. 

PAULUS. 

Give  me  thy  sword  ! 

[  Wresting  it  from  him. 

MIRIAM.  [Rushing  in. 

Oh  stay !    When  God  hath  barely  giv'n  me  strength 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  103 

To  grasp  thy  robe,  must  I  behold  thy  blood 
Shed  by  thine  own  rash  hand  ?    We  deem  it  guilt ! 

PAULUS. 

Hath  thy  God  giv'n  thee  pinions  ?    Would,  oh  would 
That  I  had  died  before  that  weary  foot 
Had  climb'd  the  hill ! 

MIRIAM. 

Indeed  that  foot  is  weary, 
And  the  frame  weak ;  and  the  internal  striving 
Of  hope,  and  fear,  and  haste,  hath  lit  no  fire 
Upon  this  cheek  —  and  I  stand  hovering 
On  the  grave's  utmost  verge.     Yet  glad,  oh  glad 
Are  the  faint  throbbings  of  this  heart ! 

PAULUS. 

How  !  —  speak  ! 

MIRIAM. 

Doth  not  my  soul  speak  from  my  joyous  eyes  ? 
They  come  !  for  God  went  with  us,  and  his  voice 
Spake  to  the  tyrant's  heart. 

EUPHAS.  [Entering. 

Aye,  they  are  sav'd, 


104  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

And  thou,  young  heathen,  spar'd  for  happier  days. 

Now  haste  thee  hence  in  peace,  and  meditate 

Hereafter,  in  thy  calm  and  lonely  hours, 

Upon  this  night  of  strife  and  agony, 

And  on  the  faith  that  nerv'd  young  Christian  hearts, 

And  on  the  strange  success  that  crown' d  their  hopes. 

PAULUS. 

Mortals  are  ye  —  and  more  than  mortal  pow'r 
Hath  wrought  in  this  !    But  for  my  gods  —  alas  ! 
To  them  I  have  not  pray'd  this  dreadful  night. 
Oh,  what  is  that  faith  worth  which  thus  forsakes 
Its  votary  in  trial's  darkest  hour  ? 
It  might  have  been  that  thou  hadst  softly  sapp'd 
My  youth's  belief —  and  so  it  proudly  stood 
Until  the  blast  came  by  —  and  then  it  shook. 
My  gods  !    I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  them  ! 
Why  is  my  brain  so  dizzy  ? 

MIRIAM. 

Friends,  watch  still ! 

Soon  as  ye  see  our  brethren  drawing  nigh, 
The  Pagan  must  away.     Paulus,  till  then, 
Is  it  a  sin  that  dying  lips  should  breathe 
Words  that  pertain  to  earth  and  earthly  things  ? 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  105 

Thy  faith  I  may  not  hope  to  shake  —  and  next 
Would  I  conjure  thee  never  to  forget 
The  voice,  the  face,  the  words,  the  dying  love 
Of  her  whose  warring  love  and  faith  have  dug 
Her  own  untimely  grave  —  have  worn  away 
Her  hopes,  her  nerves,  her  life,  with  secret  waste. 
Paulus !  forget  thou  not,  in  thy  proud  halls, 
Beneath  thy  father's  smile,  in  battle-field, 
Or  most  of  all,  in  the  dark  solemn  hour 
When  midnight  sheds  her  spirit  on  thy  soul, 
The  words  I  've  utter'd  in  those  latter  days 
Of  our  wild  love,  when  failing  hope,  dim  fear, 
And  a  vague  consciousness  that  I  must  yield, 
Must  give  thee  up  to  darkness,  came  to  add 
A  sad  and  awful  fervor  to  my  words. 
Oh  !  it  must  work  —  it  will !    That  memory 
Within  thy  soul  will  yet  have  mighty  pow'r ! 
Thou  wast  not  made  for  base  idolatry  ! 

PAULUS. 

Beloved  !  in  this  hour  of  hope  and  joy 
Why  is  the  thought  of  death  upon  thy  soul  ! 
Why  is  thy  voice  more  sad  than  the  lone  bird's, 
Mourning  her  wounded  or  imprison'd  mate  ? 
Speak  of  thy  faith,  love,  if  thou  wilt ;  and  I 
Will  mutely  listen  still  —  although  farewell 


106  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Hang  with  a  wild  and  melancholy  tone 

On  every  strain ;  —  but  oh,  talk  not  of  death  ! 

EUPHAS. 

My  sister !  thou  art  pale,  weary,  and  worn  ; 
And  care  hath  wrung  thy  young,  elastic  soul  — 
Wrung  out  its  very  energies  and  hopes ! 
But,  in  a  calmer  land,  we  soon  shall  find 
Repose,  the  wounded  spirit's  balm,  and  peace 
Shall  draw  sweet  music  from  thine  unstrung  mind. 
Thy  cheek  again  shall  bloom,  thine  eye  grow  bright, 
Beneath  thy  father's  mild  approving  smiles  ; 
Thy  seraph  voice,  ere  long,  at  vesper  hour 
Shall  fearless  wake  the  hymn  or  murmur' d  pray'r, 
In  full  communion  with  fond,  faithful  hearts  ! 
Oh,  bright  and  blessed  days  await  us  yet, 
Brighter  by  contrast  with  the  gloomy  past ! 
Dear  Miriam,  talk  thou  not  of  death !  —  Alas ! 
That  mournful  smile ! 

MIRIAM. 

Ye  know  not,  cannot  know, 
How  surely  death  has  set  his  mouldering  seal 
Upon  this  brow.     Must  I  not  speak  of  him  ? 
He  is  so  near  me,  that  his  shadow  falls 
Ev'n  now  across  my  path. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  107 

EUPHAS. 

Thou  art  deceiv'd  ! 

It  cannot  be.     The  sickness  of  the  soul  — 
Not  of  the  body  —  is  upon  thee ! 

MIRIAM. 

Brother, 

Both  !    But 't  is  long  since  in  the  greater  pain 
I  have  forgot  the  less.     What  were  to  me 
The  pangs  that  rack'd  my  heart  and  throbbing  brain, 
The  fever  burning  in  my  veins,  the  ice 
That  suddenly,  beneath  a  noonday  sun, 
At  times  congeal'd  my  blood — while  o'er  my  soul 
A  fiercer  agony  held  sway  ?  —  Ere  long 
I  must  depart ;  and  I  but  wait  a  while 
To  bear  my  aged  father's  blessing  hence. 
I  would  that  he  might  see  how  peacefully 
The  spirit  of  his  child  will  pass.     To  him 
That  holy  sight  will  rise,  in  after  times, 
Full,  full  of  blessed,  calm,  consoling  thoughts ! 

PAULUS. 

Oh  Miriam  !   I  am  here  —  and  soon,  thou  say'st, 
Must  hence.  Hast  thou  no  word,  no  glance,  no  thought 
For  me  ?     I  look  upon  thee  steadily, 


108  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

And  read  not  death  on  that  pale  cheek !  —  Belov'd  ! 

I  do  conjure  thee,  talk  of  life  and  hope  — 

For  there  is  hope  —  of  which  thou  dost  not  dream  — 

If  death  come  not  to  dash  th'  untasted  cup 

Into  the  dust ! 

MIRIAM. 

Of  Life  and  Hope  !     Such  themes 
Are  fittest  for  the  hour  of  death  —  and  they 
Are  in  my  mind  when  most  I  speak  of  it. 
Euphas  !  why  dost  thou  weep  ?     The  heritage 
Of  Truth  is  thine ;  thou  knowest  what  death  is, 
And  that  to  me  it  is  no  thing  of  fear. 
Thou  must  not  weep  !  —  But  thou  —  alas,  my  Paulus  ! 
The  curse  to  lose  the  thing  thou  lovest  most, 
Without  one  hope,  one  comfort  in  thy  grief, 
Will  soon  he  on  thee  !    Thou  shalt  shortly  find 
Where  hope  is  not,  't  were  hotter  memory 
Mio-ht  die  !  —  And  yet  —  forget  me  not !    Although 
Thou  thinkest  never  to  behold  again 
Her  thou  didst  love,  in  this  world  —  or  the  next- 
Forget  me  not !     Though  long  and  proud  thy  course, 
An  hour  may  come 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

The  sun  hath  ris'n  ! 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  109 

MIRIAM. 

Just  God ! 

EUPHAS. 

I  had  forgotten  all !  —  Oh  sinful  heart ! 

Look !    Miriam,  look,  if  thou  seest  aught  !  —  for  me. 

Mine  eyes  are  glaz'd  with  tears. 

MIRIAM. 

And  mine  are  dim  — 
But  not  with  tears. 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

There  is  no  sign  of  life 
Along  the  river's  bank !     The  sun 

PAULUS. 

?Tis  vain, 

Christians,  't  is  vain.     I  knew  it  from  the  first. 
How  ye  two  'scap'd,  I  know  not ;  but  I  know 
This  blood  must  flow.     Ye  never  will  behold 
The  friends  whom  ye  expect. 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

The  leopard  yet 


110  MIRIAM -A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Hath  never  chang'd  his  spots.    Thy  sire  craves  blood, 
The  earth  craves  thine. 

MIRIAM. 

His  blood  !  what  mean  thy  words  ? 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

Is  not  the  sun's  whole  disk  above  the  hills  ? 
And  I  have  three  fair  boys,  whom  that  same  sun 
Will  watch  through  torments  ere  the  day  be  clos'd. 
The  murderer's  son  stands  there !    Shall  I  not  strike  ? 

MIRIAM. 

Art  thou  a  follower  of  Christ  ?  —  Alas  ! 
Thou  pure  and  gentle  One  1  who  walkedst  earth 
Amid  earth's  bloodiest,  sinless !  — from  whom 
No  shame,  no  wrong,  no  agony,  could  draw 
One  word  of  bitterness,  thou  hast  not  left 
Thy  spirit  in  the  hearts  of  all  who  bear 
Thy  holy  name. 

EUPHAS. 

The  guiltless  shall  not  die. 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

Are  ye  Thraseno1*  children  ?    Shall  your  sire 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  Ill 

Hang  agonizing  yonder  on  the  cross, 
And  ye  stand  here,  bending  your  tearful  eyes 
Upon  the  tyrant's  hope  and  joy  ? —  Young  friends, 
For  some  dark  purpose  did  he  spare  two  lives. 
But  for  our  other  friends  —  the  hour  is  past  — 
They  come  not  —  ye  were  mock'd  —  and  just  revenge 
Leans  on  that  youth  and  beckons  us  !  —  My  boys  ! 
My  three  dear  boys  !  —  He  dies  ! 


MIRIAM. 


Stay,  Jew  in  heart ! 
What  is 't  emerges  from  the  grove  ? 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

Ha  !  —  where  ? 

EUPHAS. 

'T  is  so  —  I  see  them  plain  —  a  feeble  band  — 
Loos'd  from  the  spoiler's  grasp.     O  Thou  on  high, 
Whose  mighty  hand  doth  hold  the  proud  man's  heart, 
Thine  be  the  praise  ! 


MIRIAM. 


Down  on  thy  knees,  rash  man. 
Look  on  thy  bloodless  hands,  and  render  thanks 
Where  thanks  are  due. 


112  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

I  am  condemn'd ! 

And  'mid  the  joy  wherewith  I  shall  receive 
My  children  to  these  arms,  will  shame  arise. 

MIRIAM. 

And  penitence  be  born  of  shame.     Haste,  Paulus  ! 
Thou  must  away. 

PAULUS. 

Peace  !  —  peace  ! 

MIRIAM. 

The  hour  is  come. 
It  was  the  promise  to  thy  sire 

PAULUS. 

But,  maiden ! 

The  promise  was  not  mine.     It  binds  me  not ; 
And  of  thy  father  I  have  that  to  ask 
May  give  a  dark  mind  peace. 

EUPHAS. 

What  may  it  mean  ? 
Miriam,  see  you  the  faces  of  the  group  ? 


MIRIAM  — A   DRAMATIC    POEM.  113 

MIRIAM. 

Oh  no !     Whate'er  I  gaze  upon  is  robed 

In  strange  and  lurid  light.     The  grave's  dim  hues 

Are  gathering  fast  o'er  earth.  —  Art  thou  not  pale  ? 

EUPHAS. 

It  may  be.     Fear  and  doubt  are  on  my  soul. 
Paulus,  look  thou  !  —  yon  troop  come  not,  methinks, 
Like  prisoners  let  loose,  like  victims  snatch'd 
From  agony  and  death  !    No  buoyancy 

Is  in  their  steps  —  no  song  upon  their  lips 

No  triumph  on  their  brows  !  They  pause  !  —  now  closer 
They  draw  their  feeble  ranks  ! 


Are  with  that  group. 


PAULUS. 

Grief  and  dismay 

EUPHAS. 

Oh  God  !    I  see  him  not ! 


My  father  is  not  there  ! 

MIRIAM. 

Nay,  Euphas  —  stay ! 
Kneel  humbly  here  with  me,  and  pray  for  strength. 


114  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Wilt  thou  forsake  me  in  an  hour  like  this  ? 

[A  pause. 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

They  come. 
Raise — raise  your  drooping  heads. 

EUPHAS. 

I  dare  not  look. 

f  Christians  enter,  and  the  group   opening,  displays 
the  body  of  Thrascno  on  a  bier.] 

p AULUS .     [  Springing  forward. 
Oh  foul  and  bloody  deed  !  —  and  wretched  son  ! 
That  knows  too  well  whose  treachery  hath  done  this ! 

AN  AGED  CHRISTIAN. 

Thus  saith  the  man  of  blood,  —"  My  word  is  kept. 
I  send  you  him  I  promis'd.     Have  ye  kept 
Your  faidi  with  me  ?    If  so,  there  is  nought  more 
Between  us  three.     Bury  your  dead,  —  and  fly  ! 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

A  ruffian's  strangling  hand  hath  grasp'd  this  throat ! 
And  on  the  purple  lip  convulsion  still 
Lingers  with  awful  tale  of  violence. 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  115 

Oh,  fearful  was  the  strife  from  which  arose 
Our  brother's  spirit  to  its  peaceful  home ! 
Let  grief,  let  wrath,  let  each  unquiet  thought 
Be  still,  and  round  the  just  man's  dust  ascend 
The  voice  of  pray'r. 

PAULUS. 

Not  yet !  oh,  not  quite  yet ! 
Hear  me,  ye  pale  and  horror-stricken  throng ! 
Hear  me,  thou  sobbing  boy  !    my  Miriam,  turn  — 
Turn  back  thy  face  from  the  dim  world  of  death, 
And  hear  thy  lover's  voice  !  —  What  seest  thou 
In  the  blue  heav'ns  with  fixed  and  eager  gaze  ? 

MIRIAM. 

Angels  are  gathering  in  the  eastern  sky  — 

The  wind  is  playing  'mid  their  glittering  plumes 

The  sunbeams  dance  upon  their  golden  harps  — 
Welcome  is  on  their  fair  and  glorious  brows ! 
Hath  not  a  holy  spirit  pass'd  from  earth, 
Whom  ye  come  forth  to  meet,  seraphic  forms  ? 
Oh,  fade  not,  fade  not  yet !  —  or  take  me  too, 
For  earth  grows  dark  beneath  my  dazzled  eye ! 

PAULUS. 

Miriam !  in  mercy  spread  not  yet  thy  wings  ! 


116  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Spurn  me  not  from  the  gate  that  opes  for  thee ! 

MIRIAM. 

In  which  world  do  I  stand  !    A  voice  there  was 

Of  pray'r  and  woe.     That  must  have  rung  on  earth  ! 

Say  on. 

PAULUS. 

Christians  !    I  must  indeed  say  on, 
Or  my  full  heart  will  break  !  —  No  heathen  is 't 
On  whom  ye  gaze  with  low'ring,  angry  eyes. 
My  father's  hlood  —  his  name,  his  faith,  his  gods  — 
I  here  abjure ;  and  only  ask  your  pray'rs, 
The  purifying  water  on  my  brow, 
And  words  of  hope  to  soothe  my  penitence  — 
Ere  I  atone  my  father's  crimes  with  blood. 

[Silence. 

And  will  none  speak  ?     Am  I  indeed  cast  off — 
Rejected  utterly  ?    Will  no  one  teach 
The  sinner  how  to  frame  the  Christian's  pray'r, 
Help  me  to  know  the  Christian's  God  aright, 
Wash  from  my  brow  the  deep-red  stains  of  guilt  ? 
Must  I  then  die  in  ignorance  and  sin  ? 

MIRIAM. 

O  earth  !  be  not  so  busy  with  my  soul ! 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  117 

Paulus  !  what  wouldest  thou  ? 

FAULUS. 

The  rite  that  binds 
New  converts  to  your  peaceful  faith. 

MIRIAM. 

Good  brethren. 

Hear  ye  his  pray'r !     Search  ye  the  penitent, 
Bear  him  forth  with  you  in  your  pilgrimage, 
And  when  his  soul  in  earnest  hath  drunk  in 
The  spirit  of  Christ's  law,  seal  him  for  Heav'n ! 


And  now  —  would  that  my  chains  were  broke  !  Half- 
freed 

My  spirit  struggles  'neath  the  dust  that  lies 
So  heavy  on  her  wings  !  —  Paulus,  we  part. 
But  oh,  how  different  is  the  parting  hour 
From  that  which  crush'd  my  hopeless  spirit  erst ! 
Joy  — joy  and  triumph  now 

PAULUS. 

Oh,  name  not  joy. 


MIRIAM. 


Why  not  ?    If  but  one  ray  of  light  from  Heav'n 
Hath  reach'd  thy  soul,  I  may  indeed  rejoice ! 


118  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

Ev'n  thus,  in  coming  days,  from  martyrs'  blood 
Shall  earnest  saints  arise  to  do  God's  work. 
And  thus  with  slow,  sure,  silent  step  shall  Truth 
Tread  the  dark  earth,  and  scatter  Light  abroad, 
Till  Peace  and  Righteousness  awake,  and  lead 
Triumphant,  in  the  bright  and  joyous  blaze, 
Their  happy  myriads  up  to  yonder  skies ! 

EUPHAS. 

Sister !  with  such  a  calm  and  sunny  brow 
Stand'st  thou  beside  our  murder'd  father's  bier  ? 

MIRIAM. 

Euphas,  thy  hand  !  —  Aye,  clasp  thy  brother's  hand  ! 

Ye  fair  and  young  apostles  !  go  ye  forth  — 

Go  side  by  side  beneath  the  sun  and  storm, 

A  dying  sister's  blessing  on  your  toils ! 

When  ye  have  pour'd  the  oil  of  Christian  peace 

On  passions  rude  and  wild  —  when  ye  have  won 

Dark,  sullen  souls  from  wrath  and  sin  to  God  — 

Whene'er  ye  kneel  to  bear  upon  your  pray'rs 

Repentant  sinners  up  to  yonder  heav'n, 

Be  it  in  palace  —  dungeon  —  open  air  — 

'Mid  friends  —  'mid  raging  foes  —  in  joy  —  in  grief— 

Deem  not  ye  pray  alone  ;  — man  never  doth  ! 

A  sister  spirit,  ling'ring  near,  shall  fill 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  119 

The  silent  air  around  you  with  her  pray'rs, 
Waiting  till  ye  too  lay  your  fetters  down, 
And  come  to  your  reward  !  —  Go  fearless  forth  ; 
For  glorious  truth  wars  with  you,  and  shall  reign. 

[Seeing  the  bier. 

My  father  !  sleepest  thou  ?  —  Aye,  a  sound  sleep. 
Dreams  have  been  there  —  oh,  horrid  dreams  !  —  but 

now, 

The  silver  beard  heaves  not  upon  thy  breast, 
The  hand  I  press  is  deadly,  deadly  cold, 
And  thou  wilt  dream,  wilt  never  suffer,  more. 
Why  gaze  I  on  this  clay  !    It  was  not  this  — 

Not  this  I  reverenc'd  and  lov'd  ! 

My  friends. 

Raise  ye  the  dirge ;  and  though  I  hide  my  face 
In  my  dead  father's  robe,  think  not  I  weep. 
I  would  not  have  the  sight  of  those  I  love 
Too  well,  —  ev'n  at  this  solemn  hour,  too  well,  — 
Disturb  my  soul's  communion  with  the  blest ! 
My  brother,  — sob  not  so  ! 


DIRGE. 

Shed  not  the  wild  and  hopeless  tear 
Upon  our  parted  brother's  bier  ; 


120  MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

With  heart  subdued  and  steadfast  eye, 
Oh,  raise  each  thought  to  yonder  sky ! 

Aching  brow  and  throbbing  breast 
In  the  silent  grave  shall  rest ; 
But  the  clinging  dust  in  vain 
Weaves  around  the  soul  its  chain. 


Spirit,  quit  this  land  of  tears, 
Hear  the  song  of  rolling  spheres  ; 
Shall  our  wild  and  selfish  pray'rs 
Call  thee  back  to  mortal  cares  ? 

Sainted  spirit !  fare  thee  well  ! 
More  than  mortal  tongue  can  tell 
Is  the  joy  that  even  now 
Crowns  our  blessed  martyr's  brow  ! 

EUPHAS. 

Paulus,  arise  ! 
We  must  away.     Thy  father's  wrath 

PAULUS. 

Oh,  peace ! 
My  Miriam,  —  speak  to  us  !  —  She  doth  not  stir  ! 


MIRIAM  — A    DRAMATIC    POEM.  121 

EUPHAS. 

Methought  I  saw  her  ringlets  move ! 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

Alas ! 

7T  was  but  the  breeze  that  lifted  those  dark  locks  ! 
They  never  will  wave  more. 

EUPHAS. 

It  cannot  be  ! 

Let  me  but  look  upon  her  face  !  —  Oh  God  ! 
Death  sits  in  that  glazed  eye ! 

FIRST  CHRISTIAN. 

Aye.,  while  we  sung 

Her  father's  dirge  —  across  the  young  and  fair 
I  saw  death's  shudder  pass.     Nay,  turn  not  pale. 
Borne  on  the  solemn  strain,  her  spirit  soar'd 

Most  peacefully  on  high. 

Chasten'd  ye  are, 

And  bound  by  sorrow  to  your  holy  task. 
Arise,  —  and  in  your  youthful  memories 
Treasure  the  end  of  innocence.  —  Away, 
Beneath  far  other  skies,  weep  —  if  ye  can  — 
The  gain  of  those  ye  lov'd. 

L 


122  M  I  R  I  A  M  —  A    DRAMATIC    POEM. 

EUPHAS. 

Lift  this  fair  dust.  — 

My  brother  !  speechless,  tearless  grief  for  her 
Who  listeneth  for  thy  pray'rs  ? 

PAULUS. 

My  miod  is  -dark. 

The  faith  which  she  bequeath'd  must  lighten  it. 
Come  forth,  and  I  will  learn.  — Oh  Miriam !  __ 
Can  thy  bright  faith  e'er  comfort  grief  like  mine  ? 


THE    END. 


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